

CQPtfRIGHT DEPOSrr. 















































































































“Vf ULVY > do you sti11 feel justified in not 
L speaking out?” “I do.” 


A Boy Knight 

By MARTIN J. SCOTT, S. J. 

H 

Illustrated by 
Stella Mary Butler 



NEW YORK 

P. J. KENEDY & SONS 


1921 



COPYRIGHT, 1921 

P. J. KENEDY & SONS 
PRINTED IN U.S.A. 




'Q'O!. A654152 


TO 

MR. AND MRS. NICHOLAS F. BRADY 
WHOSE SOCIOLOGICAL ACTIVITIES HAVE BROUGHT THE 
SPIRIT OF KNIGHTHOOD INTO MANY HOMES 
THIS VOLUME 

IS RESPECTIVELY DEDICATED 




















CONTENTS 

Chapter Page 

I. Cross Roads 3 

II. The New Quest 56 

III. Comrades 104 

IV. The Field of Honor 137 

V. The Holy Grail 178 

VI. The Cost of Honor 210 

VII. Knighted 7 . . . .225 


[V] 


V- 


i 


A BOY KNIGHT 




A BOY KNIGHT 


Chapter I 
Cross-Roads 

I T was late November and a little snow 
had fallen. Three boys were on their 
way down Park Avenue to school — the 
Regal High. One of the boys, Frank Mulvy, 
carried his lunch in his pocket. He did not 
live far away, but his mother was to be out for 
the day and had put up a lunch for him. As 
the boys came down the avenue, an old man 
whom they had never seen before, met them. 
He asked them for a few cents to get some- 
thing to eat. It happened that none of the 
boys had any money. They told him so, and 
passed on. The man gave them a searching 
look and groaned. 

When the boys had gone a block and turned 
the corner at Gody’s drug store, Frank Mulvy 
made an excuse to loiter a moment, and then 
turning quickly, ran up the avenue. He over- 
[ 3 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

took the poor man and handing him the lunch 
which he had in his pocket, said: 

"Pm sorry I have no money, sir, but here 
is something to eat.” 

“God bless you, boy, ” the old man sighed, 
as he almost snatched the little package. 

The boy had no lunch that day. 

Frank Mulvy was fourteen years old. He 
was a freshman at Regal, a member of the 
football team and the secretary of the “Boy’s 
Club” attached to St. Leonard’s Church. 
The office was elective and Frank had been 
chosen with hardly a dissenting vote. 

The Club met three times a week in a large 
room of the parish house where the boys, 
about ninety in number, had a good library, 
billiard tables, games of various kinds and 
other attractions. Once a week the priest in 
charge, Father Boone, gave them a little talk 
on something of interest and profit to boys. 
Usually these talks were very welcome to the 
lads as Father Boone did not so much talk 
virtue as illustrate it, and that not merely by 
stories, but rather by his own way of saying 
and doing things. The boys liked him. 

Frank was Father Boone’s right hand man, 
and the director was glad that the boys had 

[4] 


CROSS ROADS 


elected him secretary, although he had given 
no indication of his preference. He allowed the 
boys the greatest latitude and found gener- 
erally that they did the right thing. While 
Father Boone would be the last to give it as 
the cause, the fact was that they did the right 
thing because he himself did. He always en- 
deavored to create an atmosphere of trust 
and manliness. The morale of the Club was 
proof that he had succeeded, for altogether 
the boys were a fine set, and the director con- 
sidered that Frank was the best of the lot. 

Father Boone was very liberal, but if he 
once drew a line he never allowed it to be 
crossed. The boys knew that. They used to 
say, “Father Boone is all right but if he tells 
you what to do, you’d better do it.” 

One day, just five weeks before Christmas, 
Father Boone called Frank aside and said to 
him: 

“I have a bit of good news for you. A 
friend who is interested in the work of the Club 
has given me one hundred dollars to spend as 
I like on you boys. You are all very fond of 
music, and I am thinking of buying some fine 
records for our victrola. What do you 
say?” 

[ 5 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

Frank replied, “I guess it’s all right, Father. 
You know best what the boys want.” 

The priest added, “I have another plan also, 
but I am not certain which to adopt. I was 
thinking of taking the boys down to hear John 
McCormack. We could get ninety seats to- 
gether — it’s far ahead — and treat the crowd to 
a ride both ways. How does that strike 
you ?” 

“Pretty good, Father,” said Frank. “But,” 
he continued, “suppose we put it up to the 
fellows. Then you are sure to satisfy them.” 

“Capital !” exclaimed the priest, “and now 
you go ahead and put it to a vote.” 

It was surprising how short a time it took 
to pass the word around. Soon every one 
knew that something out of the ordinary 
was up. 

When the boys had assembled, Frank put 
the matter before the Club, and all without 
hesitation declared for John McCormack. 
They had heard his records on the victrola, 
and were desirous of seeing and hearing him- 
self. When Frank informed the director, 
Father Boone said: 

“That’s all hunky dory,” an expression he 
used when he was well satisfied, and when the 
[ 6 ] 


CROSS ROADS 


committee which the boys had sent to thank 
him for his kind thought appeared, he said: 

“ That's all right, boys; that’s the best fun 
I get, doing something for you fellows.” 

After that, McCormack’s were the only 
records to be heard in that club room. Every 
boy played his favorite, time and again. 

“I wonder if he sings much better than his 
records,” said Tommy Hefnan. 

“Of course,” retorted Dick Brian. “That is 
foolish question four million and two.” 

“O! I don’t know,” said Tommy. “I 
heard some records that were better than the 
performer. You remember that war song we 
had last year? Well, I heard his Nibbs himself 
sing it at a vaudeville show, and I liked the 
record better.” 

“Well, his Nibbs isn’t McCormack,” snap- 
ped Dick, “and you’ll see the difference when 
you hear him.” 

So the boys were pretty well worked up 
over the concert, and awaited it eagerly. 
Most of them were in moderate circumstances 
and the limit of their entertainment was the 
movies. For them to see the great McCor- 
mack was what in the old days it meant to the 
country lads to see Barnum’s Circus. 

[7] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

There were, as we have said, ninety boys in 
the Club, from eleven to fifteen years of age. 
When they got to sixteen, they were obliged to 
drop membership, and were encouraged to 
join the older boys > club, which admitted 
those from sixteen to nineteen. Most of the 
lads did that. In Father Boone’s time, how- 
ever, the boys hated to leave the younger 
club. It was amusing to see the growing young- 
sters torn between two emotions. On the one 
hand, every boy wanted to be big, to get closer 
to manhood. On the other, he dreaded the 
loss of the Club. For Father Boone certainly 
made it a very desirable place. It was be- 
cause membership was so highly regarded that 
he was able to set a high standard for his 
boys and keep them up to it. 

For every vacancy there was a score on the 
waiting Mst. Every mother in the parish 
wanted her boy to get into the Club. Fre- 
quently the director would be stopped in the 
street by a good mother who would say to 
him, “ Father, my boy Jimmie is one of the 
best boys in the parish. Won’t you please have 
him in mind for the next vacancy?” 

Now and then, however, a boy of the wrong 
sort would get into the Club; one whom 
[ 8 ] 


CROSS ROADS 

nothing good seemed to affect. The boys 
themselves usually took such a one in hand, 
and made it pretty hot for him. They knew 
that their own welfare depended on the gen- 
eral conduct, and they took good care of it. 

Bill Daly was what the boys called a “ tough 
nut.” They nicknamed him “ Bull”. “Bull” 
had got into the Club by the kind-hearted- 
ness of Father Boone. His father was a drunk- 
ard and his mother was a hard-working 
woman. Bill was the only child. Father Boone 
had got him a good job downtown and placed 
him in the Club to help him along and to put 
a little refinement in him. The boys knew that 
he was Father Boone’s ward, as it were, and 
tolerated a lot from him, but Bill took the 
consideration which he received as a sign of 
his “pull,” of his superiority over the others. 
He was the oldest boy in the Club and different 
from all the others. On several occasions a fist 
fight was barely averted when he tried to 
bully some smaller boy. 

The boys never told Father Boone about 
Bill, — first, because the director had let them 
know that he did not want any tattling, and 
secondly, because most of them felt sorry for 
the fellow, and saw that his one chance for 
[ 9 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


making something of himself was by remain- 
ing in the Club. If they fancied that Father 
Boone knew nothing about Bill, however, 
they were much mistaken. In fact, there was 
little going on that he did not know. But as 
he said, “A man has to see a lot and yet not 
see it.” For reasons of his own, he saw and 
yet did not see the doings of Bill. 

When Frank Mulvy was elected secretary, 
Bill had tried hard to get the place, but as 
soon as he saw that the sentiment was all for 
Frank, he joined in. Nevertheless, he had it 
in for Frank. He was tired hearing the fellows 
say “ Frank this,” and “ Frank that.” He 
could not understand how, without trying for 
it at all, Frank got the esteem and affection 
of everybody. 

One day Father Boone came into the Club 
and announced that he wanted a very impor- 
tant errand done and that he was going to 
select a boy for it. Everybody thought Frank 
was “it,” and to the surprise of all. Bill was 
chosen. He threw out his chest, gave a su- 
perior look at the crowd, especially at Frank, 
and received his commission. As soon as he was 
gone, Father Boone called the boys together 
and said, “I know you are surprised that I 
[ io] 


CROSS ROADS 

am fooled in William Daly. I can see it in 
your faces. Boys, I know all about him. I 
have been on the point of discharging him 
several times. But if he is sent out of this 
Club, he will go to the devil. Of course I 
know there is a limit. But in his case that 
limit is going to be ‘the limit/ ” 

Saying that, he left. 

Frank immediately said to the crowd, “I 
say, fellows, let’s give Bill a show. He means 
well. His home is a pretty bad place, and I 
guess he is not half to blame.” The boys 
agreed with Frank. 

When Bill returned, he came in swagger- 
ing and going over to Frank, he said, “You 
think you’re the whole bunch, don’t you? 
Well, you see you’re not. I’d punch you, you 
stuck-up kid, if you were not the pet of the 
Boss.” Bill’s language was as low as his 
ideals. 

The blood rushed to Frank’s face, his hands 
tightened, his jaws set, and he was about to 
resent the charge, when, recalling what Father 
Boone had just said, he suddenly relaxed and 
smiled. “That’s all right, Bill; we’ll be friends 
yet.” 

Bill swaggered over to a set of boys at the 
[ii] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


other end of the room, and said, loud enough 
for all to hear, “A great kid, that Mulvy. 
He don’t know when he gets a slap in the 
face. I just gave him a good one, but he takes 
it like a sissie.” 

“Now, look here, ‘Bull,’ I want none of 
your ‘sissie,’ do you understand?” Frank ex- 
claimed, his voice trembling. 

“Who are you calling ‘Bull,’ little girl?” 
roared Bill. “Another word and I’ll smash 
you.” 

The “sissie” and the “little girl” got under 
Frank’s skin. For a moment he neither saw 
nor heard anything. He was ready to fight. 
His blood tingled. But he gripped himself and 
swallowed his retort just as Daly, mistaking 
the silence for cowardice, rushed forward and 
struck him a blow in the face. Like a flash, 
the color came to Frank’s face. He had gone 
the limit and the lion in him was let loose. Any 
fellow who had played football against Frank 
would have known what that meant. With 
set, determined face, speaking not a word, he 
squared off. 

“So you want to fight, do you, you doll?” 
roared Daly. 

Not a word from Frank. Instead, he held 
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CROSS ROADS 


his attitude of fight and approached his 
tormentor. 

“Oh, you are pie for me, candy kid. I 
could lick you with one hand. You’ll never 
want another fight when this is over.” 

Never a word from Frank. The crowd 
made a circle. The whole thing happened 
so suddenly that it was in full swing before 
they knew it. 

As Frank came up to Daly, the bully hauled 
off and gave him a straight blow on the fore- 
head. It rang like a ball from a bat. It stag- 
gered Frank. But he came right on. He did 
not strike a blow, but simply stood up before 
his opponent with arms at guard. Again 
Daly launched a blow. This time it took 
Frank on the top of the head. Bill was nearly 
two years older than his opponent and much 
taller and heavier. But Frank had grit. The 
fellows said that they never knew anyone 
who had so much “sand” as Mulvy. He 
needed it now. Daly was infuriated. He 
rushed at Frank hitting him on the head and 
neck and chest. All of a sudden, without a 
word, straight from the shoulder, Frank sent 
a terrific jolt to Daly’s jaw. He roared and 
tore and threatened. Frank did not open his 
[ 1 3 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

mouth. He kept his eyes on Bill, and was cool 
and firm. He waited for the next on-rush. It 
came like a whirlwind. Bill crashed into him, 
swinging blindly in his rage, hitting here and 
there. Frank took his punishment and coolly 
studied his opponent. 

Bill rose on his toes to come down with a 
swing on Frank’s face. In an instant, while 
Bill’s face was completely unguarded, Frank 
drove home a blow right on his nose. The 
blood spurted and at the sight of it, both fight- 
ers clinched and pounded as hard as they 
could. Finally, in the struggle, Frank slipped 
and fell. Immediately, Bill was on top of 
him. 

By this time, Bill realized that he was in a 
fight. Frank’s blows, though fewer, told ef- 
fectively and Bill began to fear that if the 
fight went on, he might lose it. So, as he had 
Frank under him, he yelled, “Do you give 
up?” No reply. “Do you hear, do you give 
up ? I have given you enough. If you say you 
are licked, I’ll let up.” Not a word from 
Frank. Instead, he wriggled from under, 
worked himself free, smashed Daly a fierce 
blow on the ear, and another on the jaw. Bill 
had all he could take and as they stood up 

[14] 


CROSS ROADS 


again, face to face, the “Bull” and the “Girl” 
paused, glaring at each other. 

‘Til stop now if you will,” muttered Bill. 

“Do you take back what you said?” 
shouted Frank. 

“Yes,” whispered Bill. 

“Am I a sissie?” demanded Frank. 

“No,” replied Bill. 

“Shake,” said Frank, holding out his hand. 

They gripped hands. It was over. The 
crowd got around Frank, patted him on the 
back, and in various ways showed him their 
approval. Daly, abandoned by everybody, 
slunk away towards the door to make a hasty 
exit. He knew he was done for. The Club 
was no longer a place for him. He was dis- 
graced, “licked by a kid.” But he would get 
square. Leave that to him. 

As he was about to open the door to go out, 
Frank broke from the crowd and going 
toward Bill, said: “Daly, you are not such a 
bad fellow. You might have licked me if you 
had wanted to keep it up. I say, let’s be 
friends.” 

“I’m no dude, I don’t belong to your 
‘ bunch ,’” he retorted angrily, as he slammed 
the door behind him. 

[ 15 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


(ID . 

Daly was angry with himself, with Mulvy, 
with the Club, even with Father Boone. He 
was desperate. Instead of going home, he 
waited around the corner. He was boiling with 
resentment. He must do something to square 
things. After thinking awhile he decided to 
try to “ queer ” the crowd with Father Boone 
and break off the McCormack treat. But how 
was he to do it ? If he could only bring some 
discredit on the Club, it would hurt the fellows 
as well as Father Boone. That was it. He 
acted quickly on the thought. Going back, he 
waited on the opposite side of the street, in 
the shadows, until the last light in the Club 
was out. He knew a way of getting into the 
building by a basement window, but when he 
tried it, he found that it was locked. Fearing 
that someone might still be within, he with- 
drew to the opposite side of the street again 
and waited a half hour. When he was certain 
that there was nobody in the Club, he crossed 
over and tried one window after another. 
All were locked. He turned to the door under 
the front steps. It was bolted, as usual. 
Looking up to the story above, he saw a win- 
dow slightly opened. But it was too high for 

[16] 


CROSS ROADS 


him to reach. Just then, a policeman came 
along. Bill heard his steps and concealed him- 
self in the areaway. He began to reflect that 
he was taking a risk. “ Suppose the cop caught 
me,” he said to himself. But his resentment 
was greater than his caution, and so he kept 
at his design. 

He figured that by a long reach from the rail- 
ing of the steps to the window sill, he might 
get a hold and enter. Up he leaped to the rail- 
ing, and by a supreme effort, clinched the 
window sill and swung over. It took him but 
a minute to open the window and enter. Once 
in, he went straight to the room where the 
fight had occurred. He threw everything 
about in disorder, broke several chairs, threw 
down two large pictures from the wall, over- 
turned the victrola and records and made the 
place look like the scene of a mob fight. He 
then went upstairs to the library, threw the 
books around, damaged some, overturned a 
desk, upset a table and spilled ink on the 
floor. “I guess that’s enough for one round,” 
he said, and cautiously went to the window 
and got out unobserved. 

Next morning when the janitor came to set 
things in order, he scarcely believed his eyes 
[ 17 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

as he looked upon the wreckage before him. 
He straightway went to Father Boone. 

“ Impossible, my good man!” the director 
exclaimed. “ You must be mistaken.” 

“Perhaps I am,” he replied, “and you may 
be mistaken too when you see it.” 

The janitor was so agitated and vehement 
that the priest went over to the Club rooms to 
see for himself. There it was. Worse, in fact, 
than the janitor had described. What did it 
mean? His boys! St. Leonard’s Boys’ Club! 
With the instinct which was part of his nature, 
he divined at once that this was an enemy act. 
Who the enemy was, what his motive, he 
could not say. But his instinct told him it was 
not his boys. He told the janitor to put 
everything in order. He sent for the carpenter 
to mend the chairs and tables and hang the 
pictures. He himself got some acid and re- 
moved the inkstains from the floor. The Club 
was never occupied except evenings, and by 
the time it was open, everything was in ship- 
shape. 

(Ill) 

That night as the boys came in, in twos and 
threes, they talked over the fight, and what 
they were to do in regard to Daly. Of course 

[18] 


CROSS ROADS 


not one of them suspected that anything had 
occurred after they left. When Frank came in, 
they gave him a cheer. He was now the official 
and popular head of the crowd. He had won 
his leadership last night by the means most 
admired by boys, courage and generosity, and 
he took his honors modestly. 

After talking on various phases of the fight, 
the crowd turned to Frank, who as yet had 
said nothing. 

“What’s the matter, old man? Why are 
you so glum?” 

“O, nothing,” answered Frank. 

They went about their evening’s amuse- 
ments, some to play billiards, some to read, 
and some to hear the victrola, but they gen- 
erally returned to talk over the events of the 
previous evening. Frank sat silent and 
moody. Soon Dick Brian came up to him. 
Dick was what you would call a little man. 
He was quiet, thoughtful, affectionate and 
very wise. Frank and Dick were close friends. 
Dick thought that Frank was the finest boy 
in the world, and Frank had intense admira- 
tion for Dick’s fearlessness and candor. 

“Well Frank, what’s up?” asked Dick. 

“O, is that you, Dickie boy?” replied Frank. 

[19] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Yes, it’s me, but you are not you ,” an- 
swered Dick. “What’s the matter? I guess 
I know.” 

“Well, what?” 

“You are worried over the ‘Bull’ and the 
racket,” whispered Dick. 

“Put it there, kid,” replied Frank, extend- 
ing his hand. “You are a wise lad, you struck 
it right.” 

Dick was two years younger than Frank, 
but he had an old head. That made them con- 
fidants. 

“Come upstairs, Dick, I want to talk to 
you.” 

Alone with Dick in the secretary’s room, 
Frank began: 

“Father Boone will be here soon. I don’t 
know just how to act. If I considered myself 
only, it would be easy. I’d go and make a clean 
breast of the whole affair. But there is Daly, 
and the crowd. I know that Father Boone is 
tolerating a lot from Bill because he has hopes 
of setting him right. It’ll be an awful blow to 
him if he knows that the crowd is down on Bill 
and that the secretary was the cause of it. 
I know you’ll say that I’m not the cause of it, 
that I did only what any fellow would do. 

[20] 


CROSS ROADS 


But we fellows of the Club aren’t just any 
fellows. A whole lot’s been done for us, extra. 
And especially for me. I got all that last 
night, before I struck back. But gee, I lost my 
head when he called me a girl, and simply had 
to fight. I kept thinking of it all last night 
and what Father Boone’d say. Not that he 
minds a fight. You remember on the outing 
last month, two fellows had a scrap. He just 
said, ‘It’s better to let the bad blood out than 
to keep it in.’ He didn’t even ask who they 
were. And he never wants any tattling either. 
That is why I feel this affair so much, and 
also because Daly is concerned. Father Boone 
is so terribly decent with us that I just hate to 
think he will be disappointed in any of us, and 
that I couldn’t take Daly’s slurs and laugh 
them off.” 

“You big boob,” put in Dick after listening 
gravely to all. “You’d be just what he called 
you if you did that.” 

“I know, I know,” repeated Frank, “but I 
feel terribly sore about the whole thing.” 

“Take my advice, Frank, go direct to 
Father Boone when he comes in, and tell him 
the whole thing from A to Z. He’ll understand. 
Besides, I’ll bet a hat he knows it already.” 

[21 ] 


A B O Y KNIGHT 

“I hope he does,” added Frank. 

They went down to the crowd which was 
now all together. The fellows did not expect 
to see Daly, but some of them thought that 
he might show up to brave it out. When 
Father Boone came in, smiling as usual, a 
word for this lad, and that, a tap for Jack and 
a handshake for Tommy and Willie and John, 
no one would ever have suspected that he 
knew anything out of the ordinary. 

Generally on entering, after greeting the 
boys, he went to his office and straightened 
out the details of the preceding day. After 
that he would circulate among the boys, ask- 
ing one if his father got the job he recom- 
mended him to, another how his mother was, 
a third what his marks were for the last school 
month, and so on. He knew them all, and all 
about them. He was their big brother. In his 
presence there was no restraint. He knew 
them so well, and they understood him so well, 
that he was like one of them. If a dispute were 
on, and he came in, it went on just the same. 
He knew boys and loved them, and they real- 
ized it. 

He was wise enough to know that boys are 
boys. That was the secret of his success. The 
[ 22 ] 


CROSS ROADS 


result was that he could do anything with 
them. A word from him and they would leave 
off what most pleased them. A suggestion 
from him and they would do what was hardest 
and ordinarily most disagreeable. Very kind 
he was, also firm as a rock. And they knew it. 
He never went back on his word, as they knew 
by experience. The consequence was that 
with very few words, he accomplished what he 
wanted done. 

This evening he looked around at the crowd. 
There was something the matter. That was 
evident. He knew he could find out by asking 
but he never did that. He began now to ob- 
serve. There was a restraint evident among 
the boys. That was unusual. Not so much 
hilarity. He ran his eye over the crowd. He 
could see at a glance, just who was and who 
was not present. Daly was always conspicu- 
ous, because he was so noisy, but Daly was 
not among those present tonight. Usually the 
boys were scattered, some in one room, some 
in another. Not so tonight. They were all in 
the same room. Generally they were inter- 
ested in the games. Tonight they seemed to 
be interested in him. Putting things together, 
he concluded that the crowd as a crowd was 

[23] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

in the mixup, and that the boys were on the 
lookout for something to happen. Frank sat 
off in a corner looking pensive. That was not 
his way. 

Poor Frank was in torture. He was hoping 
that Father Boone would go upstairs so that 
he could follow him and explain matters. 

And Father Boone was hurt because no one 
volunteered an explanation. Surely Frank 
would say a word. But no, no one at all made 
any reference to the wreckage of the night 
before. 

“Why don’t they speak up? They’re all 
concerned in it. It isn’t a case of being an 
informer. They know I don’t want tattlers 
around. But this is different. This is a ser- 
ious matter. Damage was done. It is a ques- 
tion of justice. And they know my mind on 
that. And that secretary owes me a report. 
He is an official. I’ve told them often enough 
that when an official reports matters pertain- 
ing to his office, it is not ‘ squealing,’ but duty. 
They all understand that; Frank especially. 
Well, I’ll wait here fifteen minutes longer, and 
if they don’t explain, I’ll take action.” 

Father Boone went upstairs and after fif- 
teen minutes left, in a very sober mood. 

[24] 


CROSS ROADS 


It was some minutes later that Frank, 
thinking the director was upstairs, went up to 
open his heart to him. But Father Boone was 
not in his office. Frank descended to the 
“gym,” stayed awhile and then went home. 
He had a bad headache. The night before he 
had not slept. He could not eat. When he got 
home, however, he decided to get the thing off 
his mind before going to bed, and tired as he 
was, he started back to the Club, hoping to 
find Father Boone. But the priest had not re- 
turned. Hesitating a moment, he finally de- 
cided to go to the rectory and have it all over 
with. But at the rectory they told him that 
Father Boone was out on a sick call and might 
not be back for a couple of hours. 

“Well, I’ve done my part,” said Frank, and 
back home he went, somewhat relieved. 

(IV) 

Next night, Father Boone came into the 
Club not looking as pleasant as usual. He 
came late, too; not his wont. He greeted few, 
and his face showed firm. The boys whispered 
one to another, “He’s on.” 

Frank now felt that he was a culprit. Some- 
thing told him that Father Boone knew the 

[25] 


A B O Y KNIGHT 


whole matter and that he was cut up because 
Daly was concerned. It was too late now to 
go to him and make a clean breast of it. What 
must Father Boone think of him for driving 
Daly out of the Club. Forgetting all his ef- 
forts to do the right thing, Frank saw only 
that Father Boone was offended. He blamed 
himself as the cause of it and gloomily ad- 
mitted that he had not been man enough to 
inform the director. That hurt him. Once 
more, when the priest went up to his office 
after a few minutes stay with the boys, Frank 
was determined to go to him and take the 
consequence. 

Meanwhile, Father Boone had come to a 
decision. There had been some rowdyism in 
the Club. Furniture was broken, serious dam- 
age was done. It certainly was the work of 
more than one or two. By their very attitude, 
the boys showed their guilt. Yet no one, not 
even the secretary, had explained. Taking 
down a large sheet of paper, the director wrote 
on it in big letters, 

“The McCormack treat is off, 

Jerome Boone.” 

Pressing a button, he summoned Frank. 

[26] 


CROSS ROADS 


As Frank heard the bell, a lump formed in his 
throat. He felt sure that every fellow in the 
room could see how his knees shook. But he 
was glad, in a way, that matters were coming 
to a head. He expected that Father Boone 
would give him a good scolding and that that 
would settle it. He was all prepared for the 
interview, but was not admitting, even to him- 
self, how near the tears were to flowing. 

As Frank approached the desk, Father 
Boone was writing. Frank hoped he would not 
look up, and as he stood there for a second, it 
seemed an hour. Then, without pausing or 
turning toward Frank, Father Boone said in 
a low, measured voice: “Take that notice, 
Mulvy, and put it up on the board below.” 
That was all. Frank stood perfectly still for a 
moment, clutching the jamb of the door while 
Father Boone went on writing. If the director 
had turned but a little, he would have seen 
agony and anguish in Frank’s face, and he 
would have understood. But he kept on writ- 
ing and Frank remained standing, unable to 
move a step. 

Then a hard feeling crept into the boy’s 
heart. He felt that he was being dealt with 
unjustly, that he was condemned unheard. 

[27] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

Every bit of his pride came to the top and the 
boy who, a few seconds before, was ready to 
blame himself for Father Boone’s disappoint- 
ment, now would not have yielded an inch. 
Father Boone was Frank’s ideal. He thought 
more of him than of anyone outside his own 
family. But suddenly he saw the priest as a 
hard-hearted and unjust man. For the mo- 
ment he was glad to find that he was in an 
out-and-out struggle. “ No explanations now,” 
he reflected, “time for all that is past.” The 
director had not given him a chance to do the 
right thing and now he, too, would show his 
mettle. 

There was an air of defiance about Frank 
as he walked down the stairs and posted the 
notice on the board. 

The crowd gathered quickly. As they read 
the brief lines on the notice-board, the wave 
of disappointment that passed over them 
could almost be felt in the air. 

Of course the boys had told their parents 
of the McCormack treat and now it was off. 
That meant explanations. They usually kept 
the Club’s affairs entirely to themselves, but 
the McCormack affair was altogether different 
— good news to those at home. How could 
[a8] 


CROSS ROADS 

they explain why it was off ? Everybody knew 
that Father Boone never made promises with- 
out fulfilling them. Now every mother and 
sister and — yes — every father would want to 
know why this treat was cancelled. These and 
other things ran through the boys’ minds. 
But, above all, the sentiment most keenly felt 
was regret that Father Boone had had to take 
such action. They knew he was even more 
delighted to do them a kindness than they 
were to receive one. Dick Brian expressed the 
feeling of the crowd when he said: “Gee, it’s 
tough on us, but it’s worse on Father Boone.” 

Frank heard the comments with a cynical 
smile. He said not a word, but was rather 
pale. One of the lads inquired of him, “How 
did Father Boone find it out?” 

“Search me!” Frank replied. 

“I say,” whispered another, “I’ll bet ‘Bull’ 
squealed to get square with the crowd.” 

Tommy Hefnan edged up to Dick. “ What’& 
up, anyway? Father Boone never did any-, 
thing before if the fellows scrapped. He usu«. 
ally let them have it out and appeared not to 
know about it. What’s up now that he is 
soaking the whole crowd for this scrap ?” 

“Search me!” answered Dick. “The only 

[29] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


line I can get on it is there’s something else 
that we don’t know. We’ve got to take our 
medicine, of course, and you can be sure 
Father Boone knows what he’s doing. If there 
is anything wrong, it’s somewhere else.” 

“That’s what I say,” echoed Tommy as he 
sauntered off. 

Frank and Dick lived near each other and 
generally went home together. That night, 
Frank tried hard to assume indifference, but 
wise Dick saw through the disguise and fin- 
ally asked him point blank, if he did not feel 
cut up over the affair. 

“No, I don’t,” Frank almost yelled, in 
reply. “It’s not a square deal. If Father 
Boone has anything against us, why doesn’t 
he come out with it, and not hit blindly and 
in the dark?” 

“Well, I get what you’re aiming at,” an- 
swered Dick, “but you know, Frank, that 
Father Boone is the squarest man going. He 
knows what he’s doing, and there’s a reason. 
I’ll stand by him, no matter what happens.” 

This cut Frank like a knife. He knew Dick 
was manly and wise. He also realized that 
every word he said was true. Nevertheless, 
he felt like punching him for saying it. 

[30] 


CROSS ROADS 


The rest of the way, they walked on in 
silence, until they came to parting, when 
Frank abruptly put out his hand and said, 
“You’re all right, Dick.” Then, as the 
younger boy turned the corner, Frank re- 
flected: 

“Yes, he’s all right. The kid has more bal- 
ance than I have.” 

At the door of the Mulvy apartment, 
Frank met his mother. She saw at once that 
whatever was troubling her boy, was even 
worse tonight than it had been before. Then 
she had said nothing but tonight she was 
truly alarmed at Frank’s pallor. 

“Why, what on earth is the matter, dear?” 
she exclaimed, as he entered the room. “You 
are as white as a sheet and trembling all 
over.” As she spoke she put her arms around 
him and gave him that silent sympathy 
which only a mother can impart. That was the 
one thing Frank could not resist. He could 
fight anything but kindness. At his mother’s 
gentle pressure, his eyes filled and for a mo- 
ment he could not answer. His words were all 
choked back by strange sounds in his throat, 
but his mother waited and presently, when 
he was sufficiently composed, the whole story 

[31 1 


A BOY KNIGHT 


came tumbling out. He told his mother all 
that had happened. He omitted nothing. For 
a while she made no comment. Then with the 
tenderness of a mother who knows her boy, 
she said, 

“Frank, you’ve done nothing to be ashamed 
of. There’s more to that affair, I’m sure. And 
above all, Father Boone does not act rashly. 
Remember now, mother says so.” 

Frank felt a weight lifted from his heart. 
He went to his room, knelt down at his bed- 
side, under the crucifix hanging from the wall, 
and making an act of contrition for his faults 
of the day, asked God to give him the grace 
to do right always. Then turning to a little 
shrine at the head of the bed, where a large 
picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus was hung, 
he said, “O Heart wounded for me, give me 
strength to bear this hurt for love of Thee.” 

He arose, feeling that he had offered some- 
thing to our Lord. That brought peace to his 
soul and a few minutes later he was fast asleep. 

(V) 

By the time Frank was ready for break- 
fast next morning, Mrs. Mulvy had made up 
her mind to see Father Boone and find out 
what the trouble was. She was certain that 

[32] 


CROSS ROADS 

there was something back of it all. She knew 
Father Boone, and she knew Frank, and 
further, she knew how they esteemed each 
other. Father Boone had often stopped her 
in the street to tell her what a fine boy Frank 
was. And Frank was never tired talking about 
Father Boone, admiring him for this and for 
that, but mainly for himself. 

Nothing was said by mother or son on the 
important topic until Frank was leaving the 
house to go to school. Then, as he kissed her, 
he said, “Mother, I want you to promise me 
something.” 

“Very well, dear.” 

“Remember now, it’s a promise.” 

“Certainly, Frank.” 

“Well, mother, I want you to promise that 
you won’t say anything about what I’ve told 
you and that you will not let Father Boone 
know I told you. Even if you should meet him 
accidently ,” he said slyly, “you are not to let 
on.” 

She hesitated a moment. 

“You promised, Mother. It’s too late now 
to consider,” he urged. 

“Well, just as you say, dear,” she answered. 
And she felt that perhaps it was better to let 

[33] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


the matter adjust itself, after all. “True love 
never runs smoothly/’ she mused, “and I am 
sure Father Boone and Frank are very fond of 
each other.” 

When Frank got back to school and mingled 
with the boys, the peace of the night before 
and his mother’s assurances all seemed to 
vanish. He could not see any justice in the 
way Father Boone had acted. 

“It was entirely unfair,” he kept thinking. 
“The whole thing was out of measure with the 
fault. After all, a scrap is a scrap. Lots of fel- 
lows fight and make up and it’s all over. I 
made up with Daly, or at least I tried to. Why 
should the crowd be punished for one or two ? 
I know what I’ll do. I’ll go straight to Father 
Boone this evening and tell him the whole 
thing. Then if he wants to, he can punish me, 
not the whole crowd.” 

Meanwhile, in his room at the rectory, 
Father Boone too was considering the same 
subject. “ Boys are not ingrates, as a rule,” he 
reflected. “True, they may be thoughtless 
and impulsive, but I have generally found 
them appreciative. But there is Mulvy, — 
straight and open as he usually is, — and he 
hasn’t offered a word of explanation. He had 
[ 34 ] 


CROSS ROADS 


his chance, when I sent for him to post that 
notice but — not a word. And he surely saw I 
was indignant. It’s not like him. What can it 
be? Is he afraid of the crowd? Hardly. But I 
can’t get away from that wholesale disorder 
and breakage — the work of a mob. Those 
boys seem to care for me — but — they know 
how this kind of thing affects me. They’ve 
had two days to reflect. Not one boy to say a 
word ! It is not the thing in itself that I care 
about. There’s a big bill for damages, but I 
don’t give a fig for that. It’s the principle back 
of it all. Here — all these years, I’ve been hold- 
ing up high standards to them and they fall 
down just when they should stand erect. I 
hated to call off that McCormack treat, but 
— what could I do? Well, I’ll have to see it 
through now.” And at that he set his jaws, 
and it was easy to realize that he would see it 
through. 

He had hardly finished his musings when the 
rectory door-man came to his room and said 
that a young man was below to see him. He 
went down and found Dick Brian awaiting 
him. It was not Father Boone’s nature to be 
at odds with any one, and so when he came 
upon Dick thus unexpectedly, forgetting for 
[ 35 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

the instant that war was on between him 
and the club boys, he saluted the lad whole- 
heartedly. The next instant, recollecting that 
there was a hostile camp to deal with, he 
quickly tightened up and said, “Well, my 
boy, what is it?” 

Dick, though ordinarily very self-possessed, 
was not quite composed under the circum- 
stances. He summoned as much calm as he 
could and said, “I have come, Father, to say 
that there must be some mistake. The boys 
would not do anything to displease you. It’s 
not the McCormack treat that they are think- 
ing about. It’s you. Of course, they feel sore 
that it is off, but they can stand that, but we 
don’t want you to feel that we are not grate- 
ful.” 

It was quite a speech even for Dick, but he 
got it out and every word rang true. The 
director realized it, which only increased the 
mystery. “If the boys were so considerate 
of him,” he reflected, “why did they not ex- 
plain? They should know that he would do 
what was right in the matter. If there were 
any allowances to be made, they ought to know 
that he would make them. It was not as if it 
were an individual affair. The whole Club 
[ 36 ] 


CROSS ROADS 


was in question. A riot had occurred. And 
just because the boys knew he never went 
about prying into things he had a right to 
expect a full explanation. But Dick’s speech 
didn’t explain.” 

Father Boone’s next remark was true to his 
principle of not asking for information in such 
cases. “ And is there anything else you wish 
to say?” Poor Dick! That took his breath 
away. He stood silent for a moment and when 
the priest turned to leave, he picked up his 
hat and started for the door. But just at that 
moment something — was it the suggestion of 
a trembling lip in the last glimpse he had of 
Dick’s face, or just his own kind instincts that 
made Father Boone turn back? 

“I thank you, little man,” he said, “for 
coming to say to me what you did. I am put 
out by this affair and I don’t know yet what 
to think of it. At any rate, Dick, you did the 
right thing in coming here.” So saying, he 
opened the door for the lad, who went out 
not knowing just what to make of it all. 

(VI) 

On the same evening Dick met Frank on 
the way down to the Club. He began at once: 
[ 37 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

“I say, Frank, Father Boone is terribly 
cut up over this thing. Do you know what I 
think? Something or somebody has set him 
wrong. It is not his way to take on so about 
a scrap that he didn’t even see. I tell you, 
old man, I believe that ‘Bull’ has got in some 
dirty work. He has not been around for two 
days, and how do we know what he may have 
told Father Boone?” 

“Wise guy you are, kid. I have been won- 
dering myself, but I was too stupid to reason 
out any kind of explanation. I’d not be sur- 
prised if you have it right. At any rate, I 
guess I’ll try to see Father Boone tonight and 
have it out. I should have done it before, but 
I got my back up when he ignored me, and 
became as stiff as he was stout.” 

When they reached the Club, the fellows 
were all sitting around discussing the matter 
in groups. The Club was not itself, that was 
clear. As Frank and Dick entered. Tommy 
Hefnan exclaimed, “Say, fellows, let’s send 
a committee to Father Boone. Let’s elect a 
committee to go and straighten out the fuss.” 

To this some of the boys objected, main- 
taining that it looked like weakness. Others 
said that it might seem as if they were doing 
[ 33 ] 


CROSS ROADS 


it to get the McCormack treat back. To this 
one of the older lads rejoined, “Let us tell him 
before we begin, that we know the treat is off 
and that although we regret it, we regret 
something else much more.” 

“That’s not half bad,” echoed several. 

“And it’s the truth, too,” muttered Tom- 
my. 

There it was again — in plain words. What 
really worried every boy in the Club was the 
fact that somehow, they had disappointed 
Father Boone. Every fellow there owed him 
something for special favors in addition to all 
he had done for the crowd as a whole. And 
every fellow knew that the very best way to 
pay Father Boone back, was to be the kind of 
boy that the director wanted him to be. 

What was to be done ? Everybody was too 
devoted to Father Boone to deliberately 
ignore one of his very strongest principles — 
“the tell-tale is not a man of honour ” — and of 
all the crowd only two had a right to speak, 
because only two had actually taken part in 
the fight. Frank had tried to see Father 
Boone, without success thus far — and Bill 
evidently was steering clear of the affair. 

Even then, why should a scrap cause the 
[39] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

director such great worry — they thought — 
unless he was angry because it had happened 
right after what he had said about Bill, and 
had resulted in his leaving the Club. As for 
Frank — well, every boy knew that he would 
do the same himself under the circumstances. 

As for Father Boone, the more he thought 
of the whole affair, the more he was sure of 
his first decision. It was a free fight in which 
most of the boys had had some part; only 
Frank deserved special censure because he 
had failed in his official capacity. By now the 
director was beginning to be concerned about 
Daly who had not appeared at the Club since 
the disorder. He did not want the boy to get 
away from his influence and so decided to call 
at his home. 

While the boys were discussing the advisa- 
bility of sending a committee to the director, 
he was on his way to Daly’s house. When he 
got there, he was met at the door by Mrs. 
Daly. She was a large slovenly woman. The 
home was like herself. It was on the top 
floor of a side street tenement. A dark and 
crooked stairs led up to it. Father Boone 
reflected that some people were like that stair- 
way, and when he reached the top floor and 
[40] 


CROSS ROADS 


saw before him Bill Daly’s mother, he thought 
that poor Bill was to be pitied more than any- 
thing else. “I must hold on to that boy if 
possible,” he mused. “ After all, it’s not they 
who are well who need the physician, but they 
who are ill.” 

Mrs. Daly conducted him into a dirty room. 
He was asked to please pass through to the 
parlor. Groping his way through two dark 
bed-rooms, with no light or ventilation ex- 
cept from a small window opening upon a 
shaft, he came to the parlor. Apparently, it 
was more of a clothes room than anything 
else. On the couch, which was a bed at night, 
on the table, and on the chairs were articles 
of wearing apparel. Father Boone had to re- 
move an armful of assorted garments from 
a chair to get a seat. His hostess was not at all 
concerned. It was her normal surroundings. 

Mrs. Daly was glad to see the priest. Her 
heart was good and her religion meant some- 
thing to her in spite of everything. But she 
was dragged down by conditions, like many 
another. Some natures are superior to envir- 
onment. Her’s was not. 

“And how is Mr. Daly?” began the priest. 

“Drinking as usual,” she replied. 

[41] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Well, that’s a great cross,” he continued, 
“but I hope a turn for the better will come, 
some time.” 

“I hope it comes before it’s too late,” she 
sighed. “He has all of us nearly as bad as 
himself with his ways. He drinks his money 
and leaves nothing for the home, but what 
Willie brings in. God bless you, Father, for 
the job you got Willie. It is the only steady 
money that comes in.” 

“How is William?” asked the priest. “I’ve 
missed him from the Club the last few days, 
so I have just dropped in to see how he is; I 
hope he is a good boy.” 

“Oh, Willie is a good enough boy, he might 
be worse,” answered Bill’s mother. “His 
father sets him no good example, and the poor 
boy has to put up with a lot of abuse. The 
wonder is that he is any good at all.” 

She wiped her face with her apron, and sat 
down on the edge of a chair. She was evi- 
dently in a mood to talk. The kindliness of 
the priest seemed to invite her confidence, for 
she began: 

“Mike was a good man before the drink got 
him. We had our nice little home and his wages 
came in as regular as Saturday night. We 

[42] 


CROSS ROADS 


went to church together every Sunday morn- 
ing and God was good to us. But when Willie 
was about six years old, his father got a job 
over at King’s automobile place. He was 
ambitious and started in and learned how to 
drive a taxi. He was out day and night. His 
money came in fast, and he was good to me 
and Willie. 

“At first, everything went all right, and I 
thanked God. But soon, he began to leave off 
Church on Sunday from time to time. After 
a while, he dropped it entirely. Then he got 
in with a bad set. It was not long before he 
came home under the influence. I cried before 
him and begged him to let the liquor alone. He 
did for a while, but he began again and kept 
it up. Then he lost his job. He got another 
easy enough but he kept at the drink. And 
then he began to hold back his money. And 
it wasn’t everyday that we had something in 
the house to eat. I had to sell things from 
the house to buy food. If I didn’t, he would 
come home drunk and start a fight. And when 
there was nothing more to sell he began to 
beat me. If Willie cried, he beat him. The 
poor boy was often black and blue. Things 
went on from bad to worse. I had to have him 
[ 43 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


arrested, although it broke my heart. It was 
a disgrace to us all. Willie was ashamed to go 
out and play with the other boys. One day 
as he was going along the street, two boys 
yelled at him and called his father bad names. 
Willie liked his dad, even if he was in jail, be- 
cause he knew what a good father he was 
once. 

“When the boys yelled at Willie, he got 
afraid and ran. But they ran after him. I sup- 
pose if he stood, they wouldn’t have chased 
him. They caught him and beat him. He tried 
to get away and then he struck out. You see, 
Father, Willie was a big boy for his age, and 
very strong. He takes after me. But he never 
knew his strength. Well, this time he just 
struck out. He knocked one of the boys 
down, gave another a fine black eye, and both 
of them took to their heels. It soon got around 
that my Willie was a terror. All the boys got 
afraid of him. He had his own way after that 
in every gang, and he got into a lot of scrapes, 
but he was always good to his mother. 

“When his father got out of jail, he was 
surprised to see the difference in Willie. Well, 
to make a long story short, the father has 
been drinking ever since, and that’s nearly 

[44] 


CROSS ROADS 

eight years ago, and my heart is broken. If 
it were not for little Willie, I don’t know what 
I’d do.” 

The priest was a good listener. Although 
this was but another of the many similar stor- 
ies which he had heard, there was something 
pathetic in the mother’s pride, and in her love 
of Willie. 

The home explained itself now. Poor 
woman. Discouraged and without sufficient 
means, she had drifted and the home had 
drifted with her, and Willie too. 

Just then footsteps were heard, and as the 
door opened Bill stood there. He was amazed 
on seeing the priest. It flashed on him that he 
was found out but he didn’t want his mother 
to know. He made a sign to the priest to say 
nothing for the present. Father Boone under- 
stood it at once and was glad to see this con- 
sideration of the boy for his mother, although 
it didn’t tell him how much Bill knew of the 
Club mystery. 

Daly was a shrewd lad, and after his mother 
withdrew, he kept his composure. He had to 
find out first how much the priest knew. Was 
it just the fight he came to see about or the 
wreckage ? And how could he handle it so that 
[ 45 ] 


A B O Y KNIGHT 


even if everything came out, Father Boone 
would not cause him the loss of the job he had 
got him? Bill decided to fence as cleverly as 
possible and not tell a bit more than he had 
to. The priest began. 

“Well, William, I hope you are not ill. 
Fve missed you from the Club the past few 
nights ?” 

“O, Fm all right,” answered Bill. 

“Have you any reason for staying away?” 
asked the priest. There was silence for a mo- 
ment. 

“ He is fishing,” thought Bill. 

Father Boone looked him steadily in the 
eye and repeated, “I asked you, Willie, if 
there was any reason for your staying away?” 

“Better ask Mulvy,” Bill replied, with a 
grin. 

Father Boone’s heart sank. He wanted to 
clear Frank — and everybody else — but here 
was the secretary’s name again. Bill’s answer 
and his manner both implied that Frank was 
in the affair deeper than the director had 
even suspected. 

“I hope,” he said aloud, “I shall not be 
disappointed in you, William. No matter 
what has happened, I want you to continue 

[46] 


CROSS ROADS 


in the Club/’ With that he took his depar- 
ture. But as he left the house he reflected 
that if William Daly ever got away from his 
influence, he might go down hill fast. There 
was one thing that gave him hope, and that 
was the boy’s love for his mother. He knew 
that a boy who was so fond of his mother 
had something to work on. 

(VII) 

Down the dark and crooked stairs Father 
Boone made his way. When he got to the 
street floor and opened the door and took in 
the clear sunlight, he thought, “Will this 
dark passage of mind in which I find myself 
terminate in a clear understanding?” While 
going along he reflected that so far every step 
had only led into darker ways. He had tried 
to convince himself that Frank was not cog- 
nizant of the mischief. He could not under- 
stand how such a boy would fail him. He felt 
as mean for himself as he did for Frank. To 
be so utterly deceived in a boy! Frank should 
have reported, it, even though he had no part 
in it. Decision and consequences should be 
left to the director of the Club. 

When Frank had taken office, it was made 

[ 47 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


clear to him that the secretary as an officer 
was obliged to keep the director informed 
concerning matters of importance. This 
wreckage was a matter of the greatest im- 
portance. It had taken him a whole day to 
restore the place and had cost him no small 
sum of money. Besides, it was not only that; 
the breakage indicated a big disturbance. 
There had been a free fight, evidently, and 
bad blood. Perhaps there was a division in the 
Club. It was Mulvy’s business to report the 
affair and leave the rest to the director. He 
failed to do so. That in itself, in a boy like 
him, was worse by far than a dozen fights. 

Every thing tended to convince Father 
Boone that Frank had taken a false step. In 
this indignant mood, he reached the Club 
about half an hour before closing time. The 
boys were waiting for him. He was hardly 
seated in his office, when he heard a knock at 
the door. Looking up he saw three boys be- 
fore him. “Well?” said Father Boone sternly, 
for by now he was in a fighting mood. The 
committee consisted of Frank, Dick and Tom- 
my. Frank was spokesman. 

“We have come, please, Father, in regard 
to the trouble in the Club. We have been 
[48] 


CROSS ROADS 


chosen as a committee to see you about it. 
We . . . ” He got no further. 

“We!” shouted the director. “We! Is this 
committee secretary of the Club or are you ? — 
you sir, Frank Mulvy. Here it is the third day 
since the disgraceful affair occurred and you 
— you sir, Mr. Frank Mulvy, Secretary, have 
kept me in the dark on a matter that it was 
your official duty to report! Do you under- 
stand, sir! that you are the secretary of this 
Club; and you have duties as well as privi- 
leges ?” 

Poor Frank! If some one had struck him a 
blow between the eyes, he could not have 
been half so stunned. He had to exert all his 
power to master his feelings. He tried to 
speak. His throat refused to let the words 
out. Was he to go away again misunder- 
stood? Was he to have the agony of it all 
over again? He was helpless, speechless. 
And there sat the director, indignant and angry. 

While Frank was trying to get himself 
together, the director arose, dismissed them, 
and left his room and the Club. 

(vni) 

After the interview, if such it could be 
called, the committee went back to the 

[49] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


crowd. On the way downstairs, Dick turned 
to the spokesman. “Why didn’t you speak 
up, Frank?” Frank’s soul at that moment 
was on fire. 

“Speak up?” he fairly yelled, “and what 
were you ‘boobs’ doing? Why didn’t you 
back me up! You stood there like dummies. 
You’d think we were culprits the way he 
sailed into us. And neither of you opened 
your mouths.” 

“That was your job,” retorted Dick, 
“and you got cold feet as soon as he looked 
at you. I thought you had more sand.” 

“Sand!” echoed Frank, “maybe you’d do 
better. Didn’t you have your chance yes- 
terday at the rectory? And you said 
yourself that you went out of the place like 
a sheep. Don’t talk to me about ‘sand’. 
You know yourself it’s not lack of courage, 
either on your part or mine. I could face 
any one else and have it out. But when I 
saw his face, and heard his voice, I just 
wilted. You can’t fight a man that’s already 
wounded. The thing is hurting him worse 
than it hurts us. But I’ll be blamed if I 
know what’s up. It’s more than that scrap 
we had, I’m sure of that.” 

[50] 


CROSS ROADS 


By this time they were down with the 
rest of the boys. 

“Well?” they exclaimed anxiously. 

“It’s all up,” said Frank. “He wouldn’t 
even listen to us. He gave me an awful 
roast.” 

“Gosh, fellows, it’s tough,” added Dick. 
“You should have seen the way he fired at 
us. Before we caught our breath, he up and 
left. We stood stock still for a moment, and 
didn’t know where we were.” 

“It seems,” said Frank, “that he is ter- 
ribly put out because I did not officially 
report the matter.” 

“Well, you’d think there was a robbery 
or a murder or something like that, the way 
you fellows talk,” said Ned Mullen. “A 
scrap is a scrap, and that’s all there is to it,” 
he added, “and I don’t see the reason for all 
this fuss, except it may be because he is 
angry that an official was in it.” 

He paused for a moment and, as the 
crowd seemed to concur with him, he con- 
tinued, “I say, Frank, why don’t you write him 
a note? He can’t fire at that, nor run away 
from it. If you write the note, I’ll take it to 
him, or if you don’t like that, mail it.” 

[5i] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

The proposal struck the fellows as sensible 
and practicable. Frank agreed to have the 
note ready by the next night and to read it 
to the crowd before sending it. After a little 
further talk, they wound up the evening and 
started for home. 

As Ned was going out, Frank signalled him 
to hang back a little. He gave the same hint 
to Dick. In a few minutes the three were 
together, Frank, Dick and Ned. 

Ned Mullen was one of the smallest boys 
of the Club. He was a bundle of nerves and 
laughter. Wherever Ned was, there was 
mirth. Everybody liked him. These three 
were close friends. They were three of a kind. 
Ned had won his class-medal three years in 
succession. Dick was always first or second 
in his class, and besides he had had the great 
distinction of winning the diocesan gold 
medal for the best English essay. Frank had 
led his class as far back as the boys could 
remember. 

When they were alone, Frank said to Ned, 
“Well, little bright eyes, you’ve certainly 
saved the situation. I was just about des- 
perate when you "butted in.’ I had made 
up my mind to resign and clear out alto- 
[ 52 ] 


CROSS ROADS 


gether. But I guess if Father Boone gets our 
explanation, it will fix things all right. ” 

“Why didn’t you go to him in the be- 
ginning, Frank?” asked Ned. 

“I did, kid, but I got cold feet.” And then 
he told Dick and Ned all that had occurred 
from the start. 

“There’s more to it than appears,” sug- 
gested Dick. 

“You said it,” added Ned, and then con- 
tinued, “I never saw Father Boone like 
this before. The fellows have got into lots 
of worse scrapes than this, and he only 
laughed. Why, you remember that day in 
the woods last month, on the outing. Do 
you suppose he didn’t know all about that 
fight between Barry and Dolan? And he 
never said a word. Except about a week 
after, if you noticed, he wanted two boys to 
go on an errand to Bailey’s and he sent them. 
It turned out that they had to help at putting 
on labels for the Hospital Fair and Mrs. 
Bailey gave them a dollar each. They came 
back chums. Father Boone doesn’t ‘grouch’ 
or snarl if a fellow breaks out. He just says 
nothing, or else mends matters quietly in 
his own way.” 


[ 53 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Say, Ned, that’s quite a speech,” ex- 
claimed Dick, a bit envious. “You ought to 
have been on that committee.” 

At that “Bright Eyes” chuckled and soon 
he had the others laughing. 

After a moment Frank announced, “I 
want you fellows to help me out with this 
note. I never did anything like it before. 
I’ve written lots of compositions. But this is 
diplomatic work.” 

Ned tapped his forehead and took on a 
look of deep thought. Dick coughed and 
struck the attitude of a thinker. 

“O, laugh if you like, but if you had been 
through what I have, you wouldn’t think it 
was a joke,” muttered Frank. 

“Well, what do you want us to do?” asked 
Dick. 

“Put our heads together and send the 
right kind of note,” answered Frank. 

“I say,” suggested Dick, “suppose we each 
write a note and the one that’s best, goes.” 

“Good idea,” replied Frank, “and let’s 
do it now, right here.” 

So they sat down to frame the note. For 
ten minutes not a word was spoken. Each 
boy at his own place was poring over a few 
[ 54 ] 



'CRANK agreed to have the note ready by the 
^ next night. 

























































































































































































- 








CROSS ROAD S 


lines he had written and then scratched, and 
then written again. 

The silence was broken at last by Frank’s 
voice exclaiming, “Well, who’s through?” 
No reply. “ I say fellows, I can’t get started. ” 

“Ditto,” echoed Dick. 

“Me too!” chimed in Ned. 

Each boy had about ten pages partly 
written and scratched or torn. They had 
never before realized the arduous task of a 
diplomat. For this had to be a real diplo- 
matic note. A lot was at stake, and a single 
word might spoil everything. At least so 
they fancied. 

“Let’s do it at home, and get down here 
early tomorrow night and settle it,” said 
Dick. 

“Agreed,” exclaimed Frank and Ned to- 
gether. And so hearty was their approval 
that they left without even putting the 
stopper on the ink bottle, let alone picking 
up the scribbled and torn papers. 


[55] 


Chapter II 
The New Quest 

The diplomats had hardly gone ten min- 
utes when Father Boone came into the Club 
to get something he had forgotten in his 
indignant exit. On his way down from the 
office he passed through the library, and of 
course noticed the disordered papers on the 
table. The sheets were scribbled on and 
scratched and some were crumpled and 
torn. He paused to put things a bit in order, 
and his eye caught his own name on one of 
the papers. It began, “Dear Father Boone,” 
and the same salutation headed several more 
of the sheets. “Oho, what’s this?” he ex- 
claimed. As the note was addressed to him, 
and lying there on the open table, he read: 

“Dear Father Boone, I want to tell you in 
writing what I could not say to you in person. 
I tried to but somehow I could not.” 

This is as far as it went. On the next page 

[ 56 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

he found the following: “If I could only let 
you know that what hurts us most is that” 
and there it stopped. Another page had this, 
“I am sure there is something besides what 
we know, because we have done nothing that 
should so ” and there it ended. 

He recognized Dick’s handwriting on an- 
other sheet which read as follows: “Dear 
Father Boone, the boys realize that you must 

have a good reason for your dis 

That was the abrupt ending. “We know 

from experience that you never pun ” 

No more. Evidently Dick had got stuck fast. 

The next pile of paper seemed to have little 
or nothing on the sheets. The first page the 
priest took up had “Ned” written all 
over it. For variety there was here and 
there “Ned Mullen.” Evidently Ned was 
hard pressed for a start when he filled that 
sheet. On the next page there was a little 
more variety, but not much more literature. 
Here and there over the page were scrawled 
the names of Ned — Ned Mullen — Hank — 
Dick — Father Boone — Bull — and a drawing 
of a dog. Poor Ned must have been hunting 
hard for a good introduction. 

Father Boone sat down near the table. 

[57] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


His thoughts had taken a new turn. These 
lads, he recalled, were on the committee. 
Evidently they wanted to set something be- 
fore him, and were very much in earnest 
about it. Such insistence indicated a serious 
state of affairs. He should have heard them 
out instead of withdrawing in indignation. 
Still, he had done that only to impress them 
with the seriousness of their conduct. 

When they saw his indignation, why did 
they not expostulate? But no, they said not 
a word. He would have been glad to hear 
their side, but at his first harsh words, they 
simply stood there. Yet this attempt at 
reaching him by note was a good sign. But 
why did they not give some evidence of re- 
gret? Their manner was not at all that of 
boys who felt they had seriously offended. 
And Frank, why had he not come like a man 
to talk it over? “I had thought,” he re- 
flected, “that Frank Mulvy had more con- 
sideration and more heart.” 

His eye fell just then on a half-torn sheet 
of paper on the floor. He picked it up from 
under the chair and found on it these lines: 

“Dear Father: We are all terribly cut up 
and Frank most of all. We don’t mind what’s 
[ 58 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

done nor what may happen to us, but we feel 

awfully sorry for ” 

| That was all. That scrawl of Ned’s fairly 
upset the priest. It was so candid, so gen- 
uine, so earnest. And it was not intended for 
anyone’s eyes. It was an unsuccessful at- 
tempt to utter what was in the heart. Under 
the stress of the situation it was the most 
natural thing for the boys to leave the table 
littered with scraps to be swept up by the 
janitor next morning. His own coming in 
was an accident. 

He got some relief in considering that these 
boys had stayed after the others, and filled 
eight or ten pages in an effort to explain. It 
meant that they were all right. He had 
known it all along! He had had to do violence 
to himself to believe that they would be 
guilty of anything inconsiderate. He knew 
how they felt towards him. These notes 
were a proof. Boys who were not grateful 
and considerate would not go to such pains 
to rectify matters. And here he had 
been for three days, firmly set against them. 
Perhaps it was their very regard for him that 
had kept back the explanations. He felt 
happy in thinking so, for his boys meant a 
[ 59 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


great deal to him. Tomorrow he would waive 
all formalities and precedents and settle things. 
He would hit the nail right on the head, state 
his feelings and his amazement at what had 
occurred and take whatever explanation they 
gave. These notes showed him that at heart 
the boys were the right kind. ^ And that was 
the main thing. 

He had got so far, when back again came 
the scene that had met his eyes when he 
entered the Club rooms with the janitor. 
Broken chairs, pictures down, ink on the floor, 
overturned tables. 

“No . . .” thought he, “that is too much; 
for such vandalism there should have been 
an explanation or an apology. And I can’t 
forget that Frank, no matter what his share 
or his feelings, should have been true enough 
to his duties to come and tell me. It’s not the 
damage; it’s the principle of the thing. What 
is the use of giving my time to the boys unless 
I can hold them up to certain standards? 
This is a social club under a priest’s direction, 
and it should stand for what is best in the 
formation of character. 

“Too much harm is done young fellows by 
giving in to sentiment. They may resent my 
[6ol 


THE NEW QUEST 

attitude now, but they will thank me for it 
later. If I take a firm stand, it will be a lesson 
to them for life. They will realize that the 
right way is the best way. They must be 
shown that although honor is not necessarily 
sanctity, it is, nevertheless, a very close 
attendant on it. Some boys think that if they 
don’t break one of the Commandments, they 
are all right. They fail to see that the Com- 
mandments, although they must be absolutely 
kept, are only the big mile posts on the way of 
life. A boy may easily lose his way unless he 
cultivates the home virtues and the social 
virtues. 

‘That’s what this club is for, to make the 
boys better sons and brothers and later on, 
better citizens. Anything that is mean must 
be shunned. A mean act, a mean fellow, must 
not be tolerated. If a boy is mean or indecent, 
and he can’t be set right, he must go. It may 
hurt him and his prospects, but that is better 
than to hurt a crowd and their prospects. 
A disgraceful affair has happened in the Club, 
followed by dishonorable conduct. I’ll see it 
through.” And, hitting the table with his 
fist, he exclaimed, “I’ll see it through.” 


A B OY KNIGHT 


(ID 

Meanwhile, Frank had got home, and as he 
would not have much time tomorrow, he 
decided on writing his note to Father Boone 
before going to bed. The rest of the family 
were out, except his mother. He sat down at 
his"study desk and took up his task. He did 
not know how to begin. If he could only get a 
start, the matter would be easy. But that start 
would not come. Finally he buried his head in 
his hands, half thinking, half discouraged. 

“Why,” he thought, “should I do any writ- 
ing at all ? Fve been ‘on the square/ I have 
no apology to make. It seems that the harder 
a fellow tries to be square, the harder he gets 
hit. There’s ‘Bull,’ the cause of all this row. 
He’s a regular thug. Yet he gets off easy. No 
worry, no hurt feelings, no penalty. And here 
I am, fretting and stewing, and I haven’t done 
a thing I can put my hand on. Father Boone’s 
treated me like a dog. I don’t deserve that 
from him. He’s done a lot for me, of course, 
but that doesn’t give him the right to jump on 
me.” Springing up, he brought his fist down 
on the table with a bang, and said aloud, “I’ll 
not stand for it — from Father Boone or any- 
body else.” 


[62] 


THE NEW QUEST 

He looked up in defiance only to see his 
mother standing before him. Good mother 
that she was, she took in the situation at once. 
She did not say anything, but sat down along- 
side him, and took his hand in her own. When 
he had calmed down a bit, she said, “Won’t 
you let mother help you, dear? You know we 
always make a good team.” 

Frank did not reply. He turned his face 
away. He was deeply agitated. His mother 
knew his tenderness and his strong will. She 
knew there was a tempest raging in his soul, 
and her heart ached for him. She put her arm 
about him and pressed him a little closer. 

Presently he gasped in choked and vehe- 
ment words: “I have . . . always . . . tried 
to do . . . my best . . . and this . . . is . . . 
the result.” Again his mother felt the con- 
vulsive trembling through his body. But 
under her tactful sympathy this paroxysm 
soon passed off and with considerable calm 
he gave her the outlines of his trouble. 

Mrs. Mulvy not only knew her boy, but she 
knew Father Boone as well. Her heart told 
her there was a misunderstanding, and a big 
one at that. 

“Now, my dear,” she began, “you have 

[63] 


A B O Y KNIGHT 

suffered a lot but you have not done anything 
you should be sorry for.” 

Here Frank interrupted her with a kiss. 

“But I am sure,” she continued, “that 
Father Boone has suffered a lot too; maybe 
more than you. I know how much he thinks 
of you, and if he has taken this stand you can 
be sure he has a strong reason for it and that 
it has caused him pain. We don’t know his 
reason but we do know that he is good and 
just and very kind, and that he never would 
be so indignant without cause. My boy, there 
is a third factor somewhere in this matter, 
and both you and Father Boone are suffering 
for it.” 

“That’s what Dick and Ned said, mother,” 
replied Frank, “but for the life of me I can’t 
figure it out.” 

“It may be,” she answered, “he takes the 
fight so seriously because you’re an officer of 
the Club — and the highest one.” 

“But, mother, he doesn’t know yet who was 
in the fight. No one has told him, and he 
never pumps the fellows. All he knows is 
that there was a fight, and I don’t know how 
he got that. Maybe someone heard the racket 
and told him.” 


[64] 


THE NEW QUEST 1 

“Perhaps that is just it, and whoever told 
him may have exaggerated the affair, and 
Father Boone feels hurt that such a serious 
matter did not reach him by the right way. 
You see, dear, Father Boone is very honorable 
himself, and he expects his boys to be very 
careful of honor. That might be the explana- 
tion, although I still believe there is something 
more to it.” 

After a pause, Mrs. Mulvy continued, “And 
then, Father Boone might feel hurt at what 
I have referred to, but he would never punish 
the whole Club for a thing like that. It’s all a 
mystery, I must admit, no matter which way 
I turn. I have been thinking considerably over 
it since the first night you spoke to me, and I 
cannot make head or tail of it. Except this, 
that I am certain there is something you and 
I do not see about it.” 

“I guess you are right, mother. But what 
do you advise me to do ?” 

“That is just it,” she replied, “I don’t know 
what to do. If he were not a priest, I would 
go to him for an explanation right away, but 
I know that he knows his business and is fair. 
So I guess it is better to leave it in his hands.” 

“O mother, I am so glad you said that. I 

[65] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


was afraid you’d go down to see him, and then 
I’d get 'kidded’ by the fellows. They would 
say that I had to get my mother to fight my 
battles. I was going to make you promise that 
you would keep out of this thing, but now I 
don’t have to. You are the good little mother.” 

"But,” she interrupted, "I am going to ask 
you for a promise. No matter what happens, 
and no matter what the other boys do, you 
won’t ever do anything or say anything dis- 
respectful to Father Boone, or about him?” 

"O, that’s easy, mother. I had made up my 
mind that that was one thing I couldn’t do — 
anything that would reflect on him.” 

She kissed him proudly, and a big load was 
lifted from his heart. Nothing would matter 
now. His mother was with him. He could 
stand anything with her back of him. He 
withdrew to his bedroom and knelt down 
before his little altar to offer the sufferings of 
the day as a sacrifice to the Sacred Heart of 
Jesus. "Sweet Jesus, I have suffered much 
today. Take my sufferings as penance for my 
sins and as thanksgiving for bestowing on me 
such a good mother, and give me strength to 
bear everything rather than offend Thee.” 
He arose light-hearted. 

[ 66 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

A few moments later his mother heard him 
humming a hymn to the Blessed Virgin: 

“Mother dear, O pray for me, 

When far from heaven and thee 
I wander in a fragile bark 
O’er life’s tempestuous sea.” 

“He is all right now,” reflected Mrs. Mulvy 
as she went to her room smiling. 

(Ill) 

After his soliloquy, Father Boone went to 
the rectory in a firm frame of mind. When he 
got there, he found Mrs. Daly waiting for him. 
She came, she said, to ask his advice about 
Willie and his father. The father came home 
drunk nearly every night, and in such a condi- 
tion, that Willie could not only defend him- 
self, but could also injure his father. Tonight, 
she went on to relate, they had an awful time. 
She had to interfere to prevent serious harm 
to one or both. 

“Only for Willie being so good to his mother 
I would not dare rush in between them. But 
I know that no matter what happens, he 
would never hurt me. So tonight I threw 
myself right between them, and separated 
them. Father, I am getting tired of this life. 

[67] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

It’s not Christian. I was brought up well, and 
though you mightn’t think it, I know the 
difference. So I came to see you to ask your 
advice. Should I put him away again ? It did 
no good last time. He came out every bit as 
bad as before, and worse. Now what am I 
to do?” 

The priest listened sympathetically, and 
when she paused, he asked, “Is he home now?” 

“He is, your Reverence.” 

“Well, Pll go over and see him.” 

He showed her to the door, told her to say 
nothing to her husband, and promised he 
would be over inside an hour. Some thirty or 
forty minutes later he was poking his way up 
the dingy and dirty stairs to the Daly flat. 
Bill was out. No doubt the home had few 
attractions for him. Mr. Daly had been pretty 
badly shaken up by the encounter with his 
son, and sat fairly sobered on the edge of the 
bed. The priest entered, made a sign to Mrs. 
Daly to withdraw, and crossing the room, 
sat down alongside Daly. 

“Well, Michael,” he began, “I have come 
over to see you because I know you need a 
friend. You know I married you, Michael, 
and baptized Willie. You were a fine man 
[ 68 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

then, none better, and you and the Missus 
were very proud of the baby. Well, Michael, 
you have got clean off the track — and it does 
not pay, does it, Michael? You had your nice 
little home and a tender wife, and a boy you 
were proud of. And all that is gone now, 
Michael. And pretty soon you’ll be gone, too. 
It does not pay, does it? For the bit of 
pleasure you get from the liquor, see the price 
you have paid. It was not the ten cents nor 
the quarter you put over the bar, but it is this 
ruined home, Michael Daly. It is a slave and 
a sloven you have made of your wife, and it is 
driving the boy to the police, you are doing. 
Now, in God’s Name, Michael, stop it. It is 
not too late. I will help you, and the wife will 
help you and Willie will help you. I know you 
had a fight with him just now, but that is past. 
It was the liquor did it. Tell me, Michael, 
you will be a man and cut the stuff out ?” 

Tears were forming in the man’s eyes as the 
priest looked at his upturned face. 

“I’m a beast and no man,” he moaned,' ‘Tm 
down and out. I’m a curse to myself and my 
own. I’m not worth your bothering about me. 
Let me alone. Let Mike Daly go his way, he’s 


A BOY KNIGHT 


done for. The devil of whisky has got him 
and he’ll get him for good some day.” 

“Mike Daly,” said the priest firmly, “you 
are down, God knows, but you are not out. 
And you are not going to be.” 

“That’s all very well. It’s that easy to say, 
but you don’t know the grip that this devil 
has on me. I’ve tried and tried and tried, 
only to fall back again into the gutter. I tell 
you it’s all up with me.” 

“If it is up with you, it is because you want 
it to be so,” said the priest. “But I tell you, 
Mike Daly, you are on the brink of hell and 
the only thing that keeps you from falling 
into it, is the slender barrier of life. Do you 
realize that you may be called out of life to 
judgment any moment without warning? My 
God! man, where is your faith? If you break 
the law of the government, you know what 
would happen! And is not God’s law more 
sacred? Do you suppose you can trifle with 
the Almighty? Because God does not punish 
you on the spot, do you think you can ignore 
Him?” 

By this time Daly was quite himself. He 
had never had such a talking to. The words 
went right into his soul. He knew about 

[70] 


THE NEW QUEST 

punishment for a man if he breaks the law of 
the country. And it surely was true that God’s 
law is more serious. That hit him hard. The 
priest saw that the man was wavering, and he 
continued : 

“Now, Michael, I’ll tell you what we will 
do. But first I shall ask you an honest ques- 
tion, man to man. Do you want to get away 
from the vile stuff?” 

“I do,” fairly roared Daly. 

“Good,” said the priest, “that’s half the 
battle. Now, I want you to know that I am 
the best friend you’ve got on earth outside 
your own family. I shall ask you to do nothing 
but what is for your own good. Will you trust 
me?” 

“I will, so help me God !” he shouted. 

“And it is God who is going to help you,” 
said the priest. “You are going to be a man 
again, Mike Daly. I guarantee that. Do . . . 
you . . . understand . . . that ?” said the priest 
slowly and firmly. 

“I do,” answered the now aroused and 
interested man. 

“Then listen: You are just a ‘bum’ now — 
a low down, bar-room ‘bum.’ Nobody wants 
you around. You can’t get a job anywhere. I 
[7i ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


am going to get you a good job. You won’t 
go back on the priest if he gives his word 
for you ?” 

“So help me! No/’ cried Mike. 

“Now, another thing,” said the priest. 
“When you went to church every Sunday, and 
received Holy Communion once a month, you 
were a good God-fearing man. That’s where 
we begin. You make a friend of God first of 
all. It’s hard enough to go through life right 
with God and with His help, but it is impos- 
sible without it. It’s years since you have 
been to church, and the Sacraments, and you 
know these have been the most unhappy years 
of your life.” 

Just then Bill entered. He was surprised to 
see the priest talking to his father. Immedi- 
ately he supposed that he had come to com- 
plain about the breakage and mischief at the 
Club. But he was set right almost immedi- 
ately. 

“William,” said the priest, kindly and 
proudly, “come over here and shake hands 
with your father.” 

The boy hesitated. 

Again the priest spoke: “William, come 
and take the hand of a man that is never 
[ 72 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

going to touch liquor in his life again. Your 
father is a new man.” 

“O father, father!” cried Bill, as he rushed 
across the room. 

No words. Tears of the father and son as 
the two embraced. 

The priest, meanwhile, had gone into the 
kitchen to tell the good news to Mrs. Daly. 
She rushed in to find the father and son weep- 
ing over each other. 

“O Michael, Michael,” she shouted, “I 
knew the Blessed Mother would never let you 
go to the end as you were!” And she fairly 
fell on them both. 

The priest withdrew, and would have left 
altogether, but that he had not finished his 
work. After a while, he came into the room 
and said, “All three of you kneel down.” They 
got on their knees. “May God Almighty, the 
Father, Son and Holy Ghost, bless you.” 

“Amen” responded the three. 

“And may the Blessed Mother help and 
protect you.” 

“Amen” again came the response. 

They arose. It was a transfiguration. 
Determination and pride on Daly’s face, love 
on Mrs. Daly’s, and gladness on the boy’s. 

[73] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Now, Michael, I want you to go to con- 
fession next Saturday night and receive Holy 
Communion on Sunday,” said the priest. 
“You do your part, and God will do His. You 
have given Him no opportunity to help you 
these past years. You have kept away from 
Him, your best Friend and Helper.” 

“Never again,” said Daly, firmly. 

“Straighten up now,” said the priest, “and 
come to see me Monday morning. Fll have a 
job for you by that time. Here’s a few dollars 
to get some clothes. You can pay me back 
when you have it to spare. Good-bye.” 

For sometime after the priest went away, 
they spoke not a word. They could not, for 
something seemed to lodge in their throats. 
When Mrs. Daly found that she could use her 
voice, she went to a little box on the bureau, 
kept carefully in the midst of all the con- 
fusion, and taking out her rosary of the 
Blessed Virgin, she went over to her husband 
and son and said, “And now let us thank her.” 
They knelt down, said the beads and finished 
with the prayer: 

“Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our 
life, our sweetness and our hope; to thee do we 
cry, poor banished children of Eve; to thee 
[ 74 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

do we send up our sighs, mourning and weep- 
ing in this valley of tears. Turn then, most 
gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward 
us, and after this our exile, show unto us the 
blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O clement, 
O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary.” 

There is joy even in heaven over a sinner 
that doth penance. 

^ (IV) 

The effects of Father Boone’s visit at the 
Daly home began to show at once; the father, 
mother and son were transformed. Michael 
Daly spoke of it first. “I’ve not had a day’s 
luck since I’ve been away from the Church, 
and I’m going to get back.” 

“O Blessed Mother, do you hear him?” 
exclaimed Mrs. Daly. “Holy Mary, pray for 
us sinners now.” 

“I’ve had my last drink, so help me!” con- 
tinued Daly. “I’ve said it often before, and 
gone back to the dirty stuff. But something 
new has come into my life. Father Boone’s 
words burned right into my soul. And every 
word he said was true, so help me!” 

All the while, Bill was wondering. Could 
it be real? It all seemed so new to him. For 
eight years he had heard nothing but blas- 
[ 75 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


phemy and abuse from his father, and here he 
was now, talking and acting like a man. Was 
it a reality? He could hardly believe his 
senses. But there was his father arm and arm 
with his mother. That certainly was real. 
It was years since he had seen anything like 
that before. The sight, so unusual, began to 
overpower him. He ran to his father and 
cried out, “6 Dad, Dad, Dad!” 

For a moment he could say no more. 

“It’s all right, Willie boy,” said his father. 
“Dad’s all right, and he’s going to stay so.” 

It is true that Willie had become more or 
less a “tough.” His environment had hardened 
him. He had had to fight his way along. But 
one thing always stood by him, his affection 
for his mother. Something else also was a big 
factor in keeping him from going altogether 
bad. He never failed to say his morning and 
evening prayers. His early training under the 
good Sisters at the parochial school served as 
an anchor to hold him to his religion. The 
prayers he had learned there, the pious 
mottoes on the walls, the example of the Sis- 
ters, all had made a strong impression on his 
young mind although his conduct often failed 
to show it. 


[ 76 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

He remembered also some of the incidents 
they had related. One in particular never left 
his mind. In consequence of it, he had resolved 
never to say an immodest word or do an 
unclean deed. No boy ever heard an impure 
word from Bill, no matter how rough he might 
be. He would fight, yes. He would swagger 
and bluster. But he could never forget the 
promise he had made one day in church, 
before the altar of the Blessed Virgin, that he 
would never say anything to make her blush. 
And so far he never had, although he had 
often been with companions whose conversa- 
tion and conduct would bring the crimson to 
any decent face. 

He had from his faith a realization of the 
presence of God in the world. He remembered 
a large frame in the class room wherein was 
the picture of a triangle. In the center was 
an Eye. It seemed to be looking right at him, 
no matter where he was, and under it was 
written, “The All-Seeing Eye of God.” The 
Sister one day had said to the boys that they 
should always live in such a way that they 
should be glad God was looking at them. 
That made a great impression on him. Of 
course, he often forgot the Eye. But on one 

[77] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


occasion, when he was strongly tempted to 
steal, and the two boys with him did steal, he 
saw that Eye, and remained honest. The day 
after, the two fellows were caught and sent to 
the reformatory for a year. The Eye of God 
meant even more to him after that. 

On another occasion, he could have re- 
ceived an afternoon off by lying, as did 
several of his companions. But the Eye was 
looking at him, and he would not tell the lie. 
It is true, there was many a slip, for poor 
Bill was only human and a boy. And after 
all, religion does not suppose we are all 
saints. Its purpose is to make us such. It 
has hard work on some material. But no 
substance is too hard for it, if only it has 
half a chance. Bill, although a "bad nut’ as 
many called him, was not so bad as he might 
have been. If it were not for his religion, 
poorly as he practised it, he would have gone 
to the bad utterly. So Bill now stood facing 
a new thing in his life. His father was turning 
in a new direction. Would he keep on in it, 
or fall back, as so often before? 

There was something different about this 
event, Bill felt. He had never seen that 
peculiar and stern look in his father’s eyes 

[ 78 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

before. And he remembered that the Sisters, 
had often told them how God would help 
us do things that we could not do ourselves 
if we truly turned to Him. It did seem as 
though his father had truly turned to God.j 
Bill also remembered how every day the 
Sister had had the whole class say one 
“Hail Mary” for those who were in tempta- 
tion. 

He went to his bedroom, closed the door, 
took out an old prayer book and, opening it 
to a picture of the Mother of God, he prayed 
earnestly, finishing with “Holy Mary, Mother 
of God, pray for us sinners now and at the 
hour of our death, Amen.” Then he added, 
“Blessed Mother of God, strengthen my poor 
father and make him good and sober.” 

Bill reflected that Father Boone had once 
toldgthe boys that if they wanted anything 
of God or of the Saints, they should add 
sacrifices to their petitions. “Blessed Mother, 
in thy honor and for my father’s reform, I will 
leave off smoking until I am twenty-one.” 
He arose renewed and light-hearted. 

All next day he revolved in his mind the 
scurvy trick he had done at the Club. He 
knew the pride Father Boone took in having 
[ 79 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


things nice there. In reality it was the priest 
who had suffered by his wreckage, he reflected, 
not the boys. Sure, they had suffered, too. 
The McCormack treat had been called off. 
That was a mean trick. He had “queered” 
the crowd to get square on one or two. And 
after all, what had he to square ? Mulvy had 
fought him straight. 

The more he thought on it, the more Bill 
felt ashamed of himself. By night he had 
fully made up his mind to go over to the 
Club, make a clean breast of it all, and take 
the consequences. “ And I’ll offer that up 
too,” said he, “for Dad.” 

(V) 

At the Club the next evening, all the fel- 
lows were talking matters over. Father 
Boone was upstairs in his office. He had said 
to himself a dozen times, “I must keep a 
hold on that boy Daly. He is a diamond in 
the rough. I’d like to know how many of 
these fellows downstairs would be much 
better if they went through what he has 
experienced. I must see to it that he gets a 
fair show. The fellows are down on him. 
Maybe they have had cause, but they’ve got 
[80] 


THE NEW QUEST 

to help me give the fellow his chance. Another 
reason for getting at the heart of this affair 
without any more delay — a boy’s soul and 
his welfare are at stake.” 

The boys below were pretty glum. Things 
were not the same. A shadow was over the 
place. When Frank came in, however, his 
face was so placid that at first they thought 
he had adjusted matters. 

“Well, old man, what’s the good news?” 

“Nothing yet, fellows, but I guess it’ll 
come out all right.” 

Just then the door opened, and in walked 
Daly. For a few seconds no one said a word. 
They just looked at him in astonishment. 

Daly’s walk to the Club had been hard 
going. The nearer he^got to it, the more he 
hesitated. What would Father Boone say? 
Facing the boys was one thing — he could 
fight down his mean deed, but how about 
Father Boone and his interest in his father — 
and the job he was going’to get him? Would 
this revelation knock that all to pieces ? 
How could Father Boone trust a man whose 
boy broke into a house and smashed things 
up? 

All this stood out boldly before Bill. So did 

[81] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

the Eye of God. “He sees, and HI go ahead 
and trust in Him,” he concluded. And so he 
went up the steps leading to the Club door, 
passed timidly along the hallway and opened 
the door, where the boys were discussing 
the committee affair. As he stood in the 
doorway, silence held the crowd. After a 
moment, indignation broke loose. It showed 
itself first in looks of contempt, then in mov- 
ing away from him. 

“That’s all right fellows, I’m the goat, and 
I deserve to be.” 

They thought he was sarcastic. But the 
words came from his very soul. 

Mistaking him, they flung back cutting 
remarks: “You’re a Billy Goat, all right,” 
came from one quarter. 

“So you’ve changed from a Bull to a Goat” 
greeted him from another side. 

For a few seconds Bill felt like rushing in 
and striking right and left. But he checked 
himself. It was a violent effort and showed 
on his countenance. 

“It’s a nice fix you’ve got us in,” shouted 
Tommy Hefnan. 

Of course that meant to Bill that they 
knew the whole story of the damaged room. 

[82] 


TH E NEW QUEST 

“Fellows,” he exclaimed, “I did a mean trick 
and I’m willing to take my medicine.” The 
boys saw in this only a reference to the fight. 

“That’s all right, Bill,” exclaimed Frank. 
“It was my fault as much as yours. We 
shook hands on it when it was over, and 
as far as I’m concerned, it’s ended.” Then 
turning to the crowd he said, “I say, fellows, 
let’s call it square,” to which they more or 
less willingly agreed. 

Bill now felt that he was small compared 
with his late opponent. He saw Frank do by 
a word what he himself could not do by 
words or blows. He waited until he got the 
opportunity, and then gave Frank a signal 
that he had something to say. Frank stepped 
aside. 

“I want to make myself right with the 
‘bunch’,” Bill told him. “I came over for that. 
But if I start to speak, they’ll ‘ride’ me. You 
can help me. I got to say, Mulvy, that you’re 
a far better fellow than I am, in every way. I 
was a skunk to bring on that fight. And I was 
worse than a skunk in doing what I did after- 
wards. But I’ll be hanged if I’m going to 
stay one. I’ll take all that’s coming to me 
and square myself. You know what I mean ?” 

[83] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

He paused for a reply, but Frank’s ideas 
were in too much confusion to permit a ready 
answer. This was strong language to apply 
to a mere fight. It suggested that there was 
truth in the surmise of Ned Mullen, that 
there was more than the fight to account for 
the unusual stand taken by Father Boone in 
the affair. 

Bill cleared his throat nervously, to con- 
tinue, when the clang of fire bells sounded, 
and the rushing of the fire engines and trucks 
along the street brought the boys in a stam- 
pede to the door and the street windows. 
Frank and Bill were carried along with the 
others. 


(VI) 

Ordinarily,^ the passing of a fire engine 
engaged the crowd’s attention but a few 
moments. The dashing engine and hose-cart 
always made a good spectacle. But now as 
the Club boys looked along the street, they 
saw not only smoke but flames. And they 
heard screams. All the fellows rushed out 
and followed the engine to the place where 
the police were roping off the fire line. The 
hook-and-ladder came along at a tearing 
[84] 


THE NEW Q U E ST 

pace. The firemen jumped from the truck, 
hoisted up the long, frail-looking ladder, and 
threw it against the cornice of the roof. 

The shock somehow unhitched a connec- 
tion at the last extension. The ladder hung 
suspended by only a light piece of the frame. 
In the window right under the ladder was 
a woman, and a child of four or five years. 
The firemen felt that if they brought the 
ladder back to an upright position, the last 
extension would break and they would not 
be able to reach the window. On the other 
hand, the ladder, as it stood, could not sus- 
tain a man’s weight. A minute seemed an hour. 

One of the firemen started to take the 
chance and run up. His foreman pulled him 
back. “It's sure death, Jim,” he shouted. 
“That ladder won’t hold you. You’d drop 
before you could reach them.” 

The foreman was right. The men were 
willing enough but there was no chance of 
reaching the top, or halfway to it. 

Now Father Boone came running up. On 
learning that lives were in danger he had 
hastened to the Church, gotten the holy oils, 
and hurried over to be of service, if occasion 
required. 


[85] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


The cries of the woman and child were 
piercing and heart-rending. The life nets 
were spread and the men shouted to them to 
jump. But they were paralyzed with fear. 
One of the firemen was heard to exclaim, 
“I wish I weighed a hundred pounds less, Fd 
risk that ladder.” 

Bill Daly, in the forefront of the crowd, 
heard him. Two lives at stake! He weighed 
a hundred pounds less than that man. And, 
as he hesitated, a great fear clutching at his 
heart, his mind was filled with a medley of 
thoughts, in which mingled the idea of sac- 
rifice for his father’s reform, the Eye of God, 
his own worthlessness, his confession not yet 
made, and the glory of heroic deeds. Again 
a terrible, piercing cry from above. Without 
a second’s waiting, without warning, before 
the firemen knew it, he had rushed under the 
rope, over to the truck, and like a cat, was 
on his way up the ladder. 

Bill had often seen the firemen couple the 
ladders in the station near his home. He 
knew if he got there in time he could put the 
detached parts together. Up he went, hands 
and feet, as fast as he could move. The ladder 
swayed. The men yelled to him to come back. 

[ 86 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

He evidently heard nothing and saw nothing 
but that dangling extension, which was all 
that separated him from death. Without 
slowing up a bit, he reached the uncoupled 
extension, fastened it, and made the ladder 
secure. Hardly had it fallen into place, when 
several firemen were on their way up. The 
thing was done. 

The excitement of it over, Bill suddenly 
realized that he was high up in the air. The 
climbing of the firemen made the ladder 
sway. Before anyone realized what was 
happening, Bill lost his balance, tottered, fell 
over completely, and went headlong down. 
The men below holding the life net under the 
window, saw him totter and changed their 
position as fast as possible in order to get 
under him. But he fell so suddenly that they 
hardly had time to shift. They had scarcely 
got into position, when down he came into 
the net, before it had tightened up. The fall 
was considerably broken, but he landed hard 
enough to make the thud distinctly heard. 
And there he lay in a heap, limp. He was 
unconscious. They lifted him out, carried 
him over to the Club room, and sent for a 
doctor. 


[87] 


A B OY KNIGHT 


Meanwhile, Father Boone, who had been 
the first to reach him, hastily anointed him 
and gave him conditional absolution. He 
was about to return to the fire to be on hand 
in case others were injured, but one of the 
firemen came in just then and said that the 
woman and child were rescued, and that the 
fire was under control. 

So the priest sat beside Bill, holding his 
hand, and patting his forehead. Instead of a 
doctor, an ambulance arrived. Bill was car- 
ried on a stretcher into the wagon, and with 
a warning clang, it was off for the hospital. 
The doctor was on one side of him, the priest 
on the other. Neither spoke. Both kept 
their eyes on the patient. The doctor held 
his pulse, and moved his eyelids to observe 
the extent of the danger. A hasty examina- 
tion at the hospital emergency room showed 
a badly injured arm and side, and a bruised, 
but not fractured, skull. 

(VII) 

Having been assured that the case was not 
fatal, Father Boone boarded a trolley and 
soon found himself near the Daly tenement. 
He was used to errands like this. And yet 
[ 88 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

this had something different about it. Often 
had he carried sad news to wives and mothers 
and fathers. But there was an element of 
tragedy in this case. Only the day before, 
he had left the Dalys starting out on a new 
way, father, mother and son. And now the 
link that bound father and mother, if not 
broken, was very close to it. Would the 
news start Mike Daly drinking? Would it 
harden him, or would he see in it the hand 
of God? 

With these thoughts in his mind, he rapped 
gently at the door. Mrs. Daly met him all 
radiant. A wonderful change had occurred. 
The room was neat and clean, she herself was 
as tidy as a pin and in walked Daly himself, 
greatly improved by a clean shave and a clean 
collar. “I want to see both of you together,” 
he said. “I have a bit of good news for you.” 

They walked into the front room. It was 
really decent now. The home as well as the 
occupants had undergone a change. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Daly,” began the priest, 
“I want to congratulate you. You have a 
boy to be proud of. You have someone to 
live for. Willie is a hero. He has just saved 
two lives at a fire.” 

[89] 


A B O Y KNIGHT 


At the word fire, and at not seeing their 
boy along with the priest, a certain apprehen- 
sion seized them both. Neither spoke for a 
moment, and then Daly said, “And where is 
the boy?” 

“He is all right,” answered the priest. 
“He got a few scratches and bruises, but it is 
nothing much. He is a real hero, and all the 
boys are talking about him. I just thought 
I’d be the first to bring you the news.” 

“Tell us about it, Father dear,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Daly. 

The priest now felt that the worst part of 
his task was over. In a reassuring tone he 
narrated all that had happened. He made 
up his mind to tell everything just as it was, 
because he felt it was better for them to get 
it from him and with him near, than in any 
other way. 

When he got to the fall from the ladder, the 
mother screamed and fell back in her chair. 
The priest was not unprepared for this. He 
dashed cold water into her face, and soon she 
came to, moaning and uttering pious ejacu- 
lations for her son. By the time the priest 
was ready to leave, both father and mother 
were composed and resigned. 

[90] 


THE NEW QUEST 

“You should thank God, both of you,” 
said Father Boone to them, “that He has left 
you your boy. It is a lesson to all of us to 
live in such a way as to be always ready to 
meet God whenever He calls us out of life. 
Now you, Michael, no matter what happens, 
don’t you ever think that the liquor will 
drown your sorrow. Pd rather see Willie a 
corpse than to see you drunk again.” 

“And so would I myself, so help me!” 
exclaimed Michael. 

The priest nodded, satisfied that now 
Michael was out of the pit. He gave them 
the hospital address, and advised them not 
to go before the next day, unless they received 
a message. No news, he assured them, was 
good news. 

No news might be good news, but not for a 
mother. Hardly had the door closed when 
Mrs. Daly put on her things and made ready 
to start for the hospital. 

The priest had a good deal to think about. 
There was a possibility that Willie’s condi- 
tion was serious on account of internal 
injuries. What a blow it would be to the 
parents if he should die! When he reached 
home, the first thing he did was to telephone 

[91] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


to the hospital and inquire about the boy. 
He was informed that the patient was resting 
quietly. “That is good/’ he said to himself, 
“for I should not be at all surprised if Mrs. 
Daly ran down to see the lad tonight.” 
With that he went over to the Club, wrote a 
few letters, and then returned to the rectory 
for the night. 

(VIII) 

F The boys were late leaving the Club after 
the excitement of the fire. They spoke in 
suppressed tones. Admiration and regret pre- 
vailed — admiration for Bill’s daring deed — 
regret for their conduct to him just before. 

“Gee!” said Tommy, “I’m sorry I sailed 
into him the way I did. ” 

“And who would have thought he was 
such a daring chap!” exclaimed Dick. 

“It only shows,” added Ned, “that you 
never can tell what’s in a fellow.” 

“We called him the ‘Bull’,” said Frank, 
“and in one way we were right, for that was 
the bulliest thing I ever saw. My hat is off 
to Bill Daly.” 

After a while, they turned to speculating 
on his condition. 

[ 92 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

“I hope it’s nothing serious/’ remarked 
Dick. 

“ Suppose we wait until Father Boone 
comes back/’ added Tommy. “ He’ll tell us 
exactly what’s the matter.” 

After it had got to be late, Frank observed, 
“I’ll bet he’s waiting for Bill to regain con- 
sciousness, and there’s no telling when he’ll 
be back. Let’s wait a quarter of an hour 
more, and then if he’s not here, we’d better 

g° ; ” 

They all assented to this and when the 
time was up, they started to leave. Frank, 
however, signalled to Dick and Ned and 
Tommy, and they loitered about until the 
rest had gone. 

“Fellows,” began Frank, “I had a letter 
all written to Father Boone about the scrape 
we’re in, but I tore it up, I’m surer than ever 
that something worse has happened than that 
fight. I don’t even believe that Father Boone 
knows who was in it. But that scrap was the 
basis of something else, something really 
serious. Bill Daly knows what it was, believe 
me. He came here tonight to straighten things 
out. Did you see how he came in, and how 
he stood the ‘gaff’ ? Would he have taken all 
t 93 1 


A BOY KNIGHT 


that from kids like you unless he had some- 
thing big troubling him? And that’s not all. 
He got me aside and began to talk con- 
fidentially, hinting at something dark, you 
know. He was just getting ready to accuse 
himself when the fire engine came along, and 
you know the rest.” 

The three others nodded in agreement with 
Frank and awaited further light on the 
matter. 

“ That’s all,” he continued, “ except that I 
never saw such an exalted look on any boy’s 
face as when he leaped for that ladder. It 
just seemed to say T know you’ve got me 
down bad, boys, but here goes to show you 
that there is some good left in Bill Daly.’” 

In point of fact, Bill had never given the 
boys a thought when he made his plunge for 
the ladder. But the look of exaltation, as 
Frank called it, was there nevertheless. Its 
source was higher than Frank gave him 
credit for. 

“Now I maintain,” asserted Frank, “that 
the fellow was glad of the chance to set him- 
self right with the Club. And from what he 
hinted at, I’m certain, too, that he did some- 
thing to ‘queer’ us with Father Boone, 

[94] 


THE NEW QUEST 

something pretty bad, too, for I never be- 
fore knew Father Boone to take such meas- 
ures as he has in this affair.” 

“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, old 
man,” observed Dick. 

“Sherlock Holmes or not,” said Frank, 
“you’ll find out before this thing is settled 
that I’m right. A man like Father Boone 
does not change his character over night. 
Something has happened to make him take 
this attitude, and I’d give my hat to know 
what it is.” 

Frank’s hat may not have been worth much, 
but it seemed to be the limit of his disposable 
property — to judge by the extreme earnest- 
ness with which he risked it. At all events 
the boys felt that Frank was keenly con- 
vinced of his position, and as he was always 
careful about his conclusions, they were 
inclined to agree with him. 

(IX) 

In this frame of mind the chums parted. 
The others went directly home. Frank made 
some excuse for loitering and as soon as they 
were gone, took his way in the direction of 
the hospital. It was fully ten o’clock, and 
[95] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


the hospital was nearly a mile off. He had to 
walk, but by a combination of brisk walking 
and occasional sprints, he got to the place 
in short time. 

Everything was quiet about the immense 
building. In the main vestibule Frank found 
a matter-of-fact, middle-aged man standing 
behind a desk, over which was a sign — 
“Bureau of Information.” Several people were 
seated on a long bench nearby, waiting to be 
conducted to friends or relatives who were 
patients, or to get word of their condition. 

Frank approached the desk timidly, and 
said to the clerk, “May I ask, sir, how 
William Daly is?” 

At the words ‘William Daly/ there was a 
scream and a flutter from the bench, and in 
a moment a woman stood before Frank and 
put her arms about him, crying as she did so, 
“Do you know my Willie? Are you one of 
Father Boone’s boys?” Without waiting for 
an answer, she went on, with sobs and ex- 
clamations, to give a fond mother’s estimate 
of the best boy in the world. 

As Mrs. Daly told of her Willie’s affection 
for her, she broke down completely. The 
clerk summoned a nurse. Mrs. Daly was 
[96] 


THE NEW QUEST 

taken into a side room, and under the firm 
but kind management of the nurse, she soon 
calmed down. Frank, although so tender- 
hearted, was not an expert at giving sym- 
pathy. Indeed, it was good that he was not, 
for in Mrs. Daly’s hysterical condition, sym- 
pathy would have made her worse. The 
excitement was hardly over when word came 
from the office that William had regained con- 
sciousness, and that he was out of danger. 
The messenger also added that he was sleep- 
ing quietly, and that it was not advisable to 
disturb him now, but that his mother would 
be welcome to see him in the morning, 
j Mrs. Daly turned to Frank. “You are one 
of Willie’s friends?” 

Frank reflected on the fight and the con- 
temptuous terms that Bill had used toward 
him, but he also remembered their final talk, 
and so replied without hesitation, “Yes, 
Mrs. Daly.” 

i “Oh, he was the good boy to his mother! 
And it’s a hard time of it he’s had, with no 
one knowing how much the poor boy went 
through to help his mother. O Blessed 
Mother of God, help him from your place in 
heaven!” 

[ 97 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


Frank was affected by the emotion which 
was again overcoming the fond mother, but he 
said as calmly as he could, “ Don’t you think 
we had better go home now, Mrs. Daly?” 

“No, I can’t go home and him up there,” 
she replied. 

“But you can’t stay here all night,” 
objected Frank. “Come home with me now. 
That’s what Bill would want if he had the 
say.” 

“Is that what you call him — Bill?” 

“O, for short you know, Mrs. Daly. Boys 
always take short cuts.” 

“I never called him anything but Willie,” 
she sighed and started to cry again. 

“Won’t you come home now?” Frank 
asked tenderly. 

“I’ve got no heart to go anywhere while 
he is up there,” she again declared. 

Frank now realized that things were getting 
serious. His own mother would be anxious 
about him, and the hospital bench was not a 
place for Mrs. Daly to spend the night. He 
tried all his persuasive powers, to no effect. 

While he was in this state of anxiety, he 
heard a voice at the desk ask, “Is William 
Daly doing nicely? Has he regained con- 

[98] 


THE NEW QUEST 

sciousness yet?” Looking up, Frank, to his 
great joy, saw Father Boone. At the same 
instant, hearing a sob and looking in its 
direction, the priest perceived Mrs. Daly and 
Frank. He stepped over to where they were. 

“Good gracious, my dear woman,” he 
exclaimed, “this is no place for you at this 
hour. And you, Frank? I must say I am glad 
to see you here, but we must all go home now. 
Wait for me a minute. I’ll just run upstairs 
and see William.” As a priest, he had access to 
the wards at any hour of the day or night. 
It occurred to him that the patient might be 
conscious by that time, and he decided to 
see him and hear his confession if possible. 
He was conducted to Daly’s bed, and saw 
that he was sleeping soundly. He knew that 
sleep was the best medicine; so he left the 
patient, after giving him his blessing. 

“He is sleeping like a baby, Mrs. Daly,” 
was the way he saluted the mother, as he 
drew near. Then, waiting for neither yes nor 
no , he took it for granted that they were all 
going home. Under his dominant and kindly 
manner, Mrs. Daly was like a child. Father 
Boone called a cab and gave the driver the 

[99] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

order to take both Mrs. Daly and Frank to 
their homes. He put a bill in Frank’s hand 
to pay the fares, and without waiting for 
thanks or protestations, closed the taxi door, 
and walked briskly homeward. 

Father Boone felt, after the crowded events 
and impressions of the day, that he needed 
the walk back to the rectory to clear his head. 
“ I was right,” he declared to himself, “Mulvy 
is all gold. The consideration of that boy! 
I’ve gone wrong somewhere! Frank’s too 
tender-hearted to cause me pain, deliberately, 
and he is too brave to shirk responsibilty — 
to fail in the discharge of his duty. Deduc- 
tions do not avail against known character- 
istics. A boy of Mulvy’s character doesn’t 
do a cowardly thing. I know that — evidence 
or no evidence. And yet — that plagued 
mystery keeps staring me in the face! If 
they had told me they’d had a free-for-all! 
I can make allowances. I know boys. Here 
it’s nearly a week, and not one word in regard 
to the affair. And they know I am all cut 
up over it. 

“What’s up anyway? Why didn’t I send 
for Mulvy after the first day and demand a 
report or explanation? Pride, I suppose; 
[ ioo] 


THE NEW QUEST 

hurt, at their lack of confidence in me. Well, 
the only thing is to get down from my high 
horse now. I’ve got to begin with myself. 

“And yet,” his thoughts swung around, 
“I don’t know as it is pride exactly. There’s 
the fitness of things — just indignation. Our 
Lord himself had to show it to the Scribes 
and Pharisees. I want those boys to know 
they’re not acting right. That’s my real 
motive.” He sighed deeply. “Here I am 
again between post and pillar. I don’t know 
what to do. I want to take the stand that 
will be of true benefit to the boys, not merely 
now but later.” 

So reflecting, he reached the rectory. A 
few minutes later, the light in his room was 
out and he had finished a busy and painful 
day. 

Meanwhile, Frank saw Mrs. Daly home, 
and in a little while he was dismissing the 
chauffeur at his own door. Quickly he ran 
up the steps of his apartment house and in a 
moment had climbed the three flights of 
stairs. Everybody was in bed but his mother. 
Her first words were, “0 my boy, what has 
happened to you? I was alarmed at your 
staying out so late.” 

[ ioi ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

Frank felt he should at least give some 
account of himself at once. In the most 
matter of fact way, he narrated the evening’s 
events. But his mother discerned his gen- 
erous heart beneath his words, and she was 
proud of him — so brave and so tender. And 
especially was she glad that Father Boone 
had found Frank at the hospital with Mrs. 
Daly. She knew how that would affect the 
misunderstanding, and she was more than 
satisfied with the turn of affairs when Frank 
finished his recital by saying, “I tell you, 
mother, Father Boone is a brick.” Then, as 
he feared that this did not convey a great 
deal of meaning to her, he added, “He is 
‘some’ man.” 

“And somebody is ‘some’ boy,” echoed 
his mother, kissing him good-night. 

Frank went to his room, said his prayers 
and jumped into bed. “I’ll sleep until noon”, 
he muttered, as he got under the covers. He 
closed his eyes, but although he was dead 
tired, he could not sleep. Indeed, it seemed 
he was more wide awake than at midday. 
The clock struck twelve, and still his mind 
was all activity. 

He saw himself chatting with Daly — heard 
[ 102 ] 


THE NEW QUEST 

the fire-clang — saw Bill run up the ladder — 
beheld him waver, totter and fall — saw his 
limp body in the net — heard the afflicted 
mother speak of her Willie — her good boy 
Willie, whom the boys called “Bull”. And 
then there was Father Boone, always in the 
right place, and doing the proper thing, cool, 
firm, kind, commanding. And this was the 
man he was on the outs with. Was it more 
likely that a boy like himself would be wrong 
or Father Boone? 

“I’m a boob,” he accused himself. “I 
should have gone to him at the start. Even 
if he were cross — most likely he’d heard 
there was a row, and I was in it. Then, of 
course, he’d feel hurt that I hadn’t shown 
him more confidence. But great guns! I 
did go up to make a clean breast of it, and got 
‘cold feet’. But that’s not his fault. That’s 
how the whole blame thing began. Gosh, I 
wish I had some of Bill Daly’s sand!” 

He had begun to feel a little drowsy. The 
clock struck one and he was murmuring “a 
little . . . of . . . Bill . . . Daly’s . . . ‘sand’ . . . 
Bill . . . Daly’s . . . sand . . . sand .... sand 

sand!” And off he fell into the land 

of nod. 

[ 103 ] 


Chapter III 
Comrades 


It was full daylight when Bill Daly opened 
his eyes the next morning. On all sides of him 
were beds. Nurses and doctors were walking 
noiselessly up and down the ward. He did 
not know what to make of it. He had never 
been in a hospital before, even as a visitor. 
He had to make an effort to collect his 
thoughts. 

O yes! the fire. That shaky ladder. The 
woman and the child at the window crying 
for help. His quick ascent up the ladder. 
The adjustment — a sudden sensation of dizzi- 
ness — and then! Yes, he must have fallen, 
[f Just then he moved his arm a bit, and a 
moan issued from his distorted mouth. He 
knew now — who he was and what had hap- 
pened. He changed the position of his head 
and a groan escaped him. He moved his body 
ever so little, and pain shot all through it. 

[ 104 ] 


COMRAD E S 


“Oh, Oh, Oh/’ he groaned. After that, for a 
moment, he lay as quiet as possible. “O, 
Tm a girl, all right,” he told himself. “What 
am I groaning about? I’ll bet Mulvy would 
take his medicine. That’s ‘some’ boy, Mulvy. 
Never grunted once, and I hit him all over. 
O for a little of his ‘sand.’” 

’ Just then he moved his arm again, and 
another moan escaped him. A nurse, passing 
by, heard him. 

“That’s all right, little man,” she said, 
“it’s painful, but no broken bones; you’ll be 
on your feet soon.” Bill shut his jaw tight. 
His suffering recalled to his mind a story one 
of the Sisters had told the class a few years 
previously, of a little boy led into the Roman 
Amphitheatre to be tortured for the Faith. 
They made him hold burning coals in his 
hands and told him that if he dropped them 
he was giving incense to the idols. He held 
the coals until they burned right through his 
hand. A martyr. His picture was hanging 
on the wall of the class room. An angel was 
placing a crown on his head and he looked — 
happy! 

“I’ve beenja pretty tough nut,” Bill 
soliloquized, “guess this is my punishment. 

[ 105] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


That martyr kid didn’t do any harm. I’ve 
done a lot. The fellows aren’t a bad set. They 
gave me a pretty good show. They didn’t 
butt in on the fight. What grit that Mulvy 
has! I’d have given up, if he was on top — 
but not him! Gee — the way he just squirmed 
from under, and started in, as if only be- 
ginning. No wonder he plays football! A 
fellow’s eyes tell you when you can’t lick 
him. And cool as a cucumber! And then — 
‘Let’s shake!’ ‘Some boy’ that Mulvy kid! 
And what a cur I was to go and smash things 
the way I did ! And spoil the fellows having the 
McCormack treat. I’m pretty ‘yellow’. And 
then Father Boone comes over and straightens 
things out and puts Dad on his feet! 

“Well, I’m through with the rough-neck 
stuff. Pretty painful — but you don’t catch 
me groaning again. I’ll ‘offer it up’, like 
Sister said, for the love of God, to atone for 
my sins. I’ve got the sins all right. So here 
goes for the ‘offer up’ part. No more grunts. 
Bill Daly.” 

He had hardly finished his resolve to bear 
his pain patiently and without murmur, as an 
offering to God, when the doctor and nurse 
approached his bed. 

[ i°6 ] 


COMRADES 


“Well, sonny/’ began the doctor, “you 
did quite a circus stunt, I’m told.” 

Bill grinned for reply, as the doctor pro- 
ceeded to examine him. It was necessary to 
press and probe and lift and handle him gen- 
erally. Every pressure and every slightest 
movement caused him exquisite pain. But 
not a murmur escaped him. Once or twice 
there was an “Oh!” in spite of his best 
efforts, but not a complaint nor a whimper. 
Doctor and nurse were surprised. Finally, 
the doctor said, “Son, either you are not 
much hurt or you are the pluckiest lad I’ve 
ever examined.” 

“I don’t know about the pluck, doctor,” 
he replied, “but I do know that if I were 

hurt much more, it would be all over with 
99 

me. 

He had hardly finished the words when he 
fainted. When he came to, the doctor said, 
“Boy, nothing but dynamite can kill you, and 
I want to tell you that your name is pluck. ” 
They left him for a few minutes and when the 
nurse returned, she remarked: “You are not 
seriously injured, but you will be pretty sore 
for some days, and I want to tell you, you 
are a little hero.” 

1 107] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


When she was gone, Bill mused: “I wonder 
what she’d say to the ‘little hero/ if she saw 
that damaged room and knew it was spite? 
I’m getting mine. I’ll cut out the ‘hero’ stuff, 
for a while anyway. ” 

About an hour later, as he was lying quietly 
on his back, he was delighted to see his mother 
coming towards him. The sudden movement 
he made, hurt him dreadfully but he quickly 
mastered himself, and gave no indication 
whatever of the pain he experienced. The 
nurse had given the mother strict orders not 
to touch him but, when she saw her Willie 
there before her, the great love she bore him 
made her forget everything. She threw her 
arms about him and before he could say a 
word, had given him a hug and a hearty kiss. 
It was almost as bad as the doctor’s examina- 
tion. Willie writhed in pain, but he uttered 
no complaint. 

“O my dear, dear boy,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Daly, seeing his efforts at suppressing the 
pain. “The nurse told me not to touch you, 
and here I’ve almost squeezed the life out of 
you, and made you suffer in every part of 
your body.” 

His suffering was so intense that it was 
[ 108] 


COMRADES 


some minutes before Bill could reply to her. 
At length he said, “O mother, I’m so glad to 
see you. It seems so long since I left the 
house yesterday and, mother, life seems so 
different/’ 

This exhausted him. He just lay still, his 
mother’s hand on his forehead, and her eyes 
looking into his. In his weakened state, tears 
soon gathered, not of pain, but of grateful- 
ness, of emotion from a high resolve to bury 
the old Bill Daly and to live anew. 

By degrees they began to talk. She told 
him of the night before, and the meeting with 
the boy at the office below, and his kindness 
to her. Bill was all interest. She could not 
recall the boy’s name and she was a poor hand 
at description. Bill mentioned a number of 
his corner chums. The Club boys did not even 
enter his head. “ Think hard, mother, and 
see if you can’t get it. I want to know. I 
didn’t think anyone cared so much for me.” 

“O yes, now I remember,” she replied, 
“When Father Boone came in he called him 
Frank.” 

That was too much for Bill. He thought of 
a thousand things all at once. His mother, 
only half understanding, continued: “He was 
[109] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


one of the nicest boys I ever saw. When we 
got to our house, he took me by the hand and 
says, ‘Don’t worry, Mrs. Daly. You’ve got 
one of the finest boys in the world, and he’ll 
be home with you soon, ’ and his voice as kind 
and as tender as a woman’s, God bless him!” 

Bill was still thinking. This was the boy he 
had provoked to fight, the one who had had 
to take the brunt of the director’s anger! 
Mrs. Daly was rambling on when Bill looked 
up and asked her if Father Boone had been 
around. 

She was not a little surprised. “Didn’t 
you know about him, dear?” she inquired. 
Then she proceeded to tell everything in de- 
tail, from the time that Father Boone brought 
her the news until he closed the taxi door and 
sent her home with Frank. The narration 
seemed to Bill like a story from a book. He 
had the illusion, again, of not being a party 
to the events at all, but just a spectator. 
Then the thought of his ingratitude came back 
full force. The kindly and tactful deeds of 
Father Boone bored into his soul like a red 
hot iron. What an ingrate he was. Hero! 
indeed. Such a hero! 

While he was thus reflecting, the nurse 
[ no] 


COMRADES 


came over and informed his mother that it was 
time to go now, as the doctors would be in 
soon. Reluctantly she bade good-bye to her 
boy. Wiser by experience, she did not em- 
brace him, but just bent low and kissed him 
gently on the forehead. 

(II) 

The doctors made their usual round of the 
ward, and when they came to Daly, the 
physician who had dressed his bruises the 
night before remarked, “ Here’s the hero kid.” 
The head doctor looked at him kindly. “ Well, 
little man,” he said, “ the next time you go 
to a fire, send us word so we can see you per- 
form.” They all laughed at this, and Bill 
smiled. After the examination, the doctor 
assured him, “Nothing the matter, my boy. 
You’re sound as a dollar, just a little shaken 
up and bruised; and you’ll be out in a few 
days.” 

When Mrs. Daly came in again about four 
o’clock in the afternoon, she was over-joyed 
to hear the good report of her son’s condition. 
She saw now, however, that he was very 
serious. Indeed, it had been the most serious 
day of his life. 


[m] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

All day long Bill had been reflecting on 
what his mother had told him of Father Boone 
and of Frank. He had begun to realize that 
he had something to do besides being grateful 
to them both. There was a duty to perform. 
It had been hard to go to the Club when he 
intended to tell them about the breakage. 
And now it seemed ten times harder. How 
could he do it ? After all the goodness shown 
him, to be obliged to admit that he was a 
thug. The thought had tortured him all the 
day. It was still racking his mind when his 
mother came in. 

If only Father Boone would come around, 
he reflected. It would be easier to make a 
clean breast of it to him. He would under- 
stand. Father Boone seemed to understand 
everything. He’d see, too, that the Bill who 
had done the rough stuff was changed. He’d 
know without a lot of explaining, how some 
things hurt more than pain. The thing to do 
was to tell Father Boone and let it all rest 
with him. 

That was Bill’s conclusion and his resolve. 
He did not dare tell his mother. He won- 
dered how much the boys knew. His mother, 
sitting admiringly at his side, told him one 
[ 112] 


COMRADES 


piece of news which pleased him greatly. 
Father Boone had got his father a good job 
and he had started in right away. That was 
why he was not down with her to see him. 
But he would be around in the evening. While 
she was telling this, Bill interrupted her. 

“O mother, see,” he whispered, indicating 
two nuns who were coming toward them, 
“and one of them is Sister Mary Thomas.” 

They were Sisters from the school which 
Daly had attended before he went to work, 
and they greeted the mother and her boy 
sympathetically. After a bit, Mrs. Daly, 
recalled that her husband returning from 
work, would be waiting for his dinner, and 
she hurried away. The Sisters stayed for some 
time, giving Bill that comfort which they 
alone can impart. Before going Sister Mary 
Thomas placed a crucifix and a pair of beads 
in his hands. “He suffered for you, William,” 
she said, “and you must also suffer for Him — 
now especially.” 

He watched them going out, as he might 
gaze on departing angels. Then his eyes were 
turned toward the crucifix. “He suffered in 
mind as well as body for me,” he mused. For 
Bill was remembering many things now, which 

[ ”3] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


he had not recalled since the Sisters had 
taught them to him in his school days. 
Calvary had a meaning for him now — an 
atonement for sin and a restoration to good- 
ness. “Some job — to tell on myself,” he 
sighed, “but I’ll show the Lord that I mean 
business.” 

About seven o’clock in came Frank. Bill 
was both glad, and not glad, to see him. 
Everything Frank did for him only made 
matters harder for Bill. And yet he wanted 
that boy near him. Bill recognized the com- 
bination of strength and goodness in Frank. 
Indeed, one reason for the fight, had been his 
envy of Mulvy. But Bill’s disposition had 
undergone a change. After what his mother 
had told him Frank appeared as a boy of 
nobler mould than the rest. 

Frank began with an offhand, “Well, how 
goes it, old man ?” 

“Fine,” answered Bill. 

“You’re all right, Bill. Your stock is pretty 
high now at the Club.” 

But Bill was thinking of other things than 
compliments, and after a moment’s silence, 
Frank decided that the patient was suffering 
a good deal, and that he’d better go. 

1 114] 


COMRADES 


“No, don’t go yet, Mulvy,” Bill begged, 
“stay with a fellow a little while.” 

“Why, you are crying, old man,” said 
Frank, as he looked into his face, “you must 
be suffering terribly. It takes a lot of pain to 
make you cry.” 

“It’s not pain,” he whispered. “It’s some- 
thing worse.” 

“O, I know, old fellow. You’re thinking 
about your father and mother. But you’re 
not seriously hurt, the nurse told me. Father 
Boone has been around to see your folks, and 
he has made them feel all right.” 

“It’s something worse than that,” answered 
Daly. “If I told you, you’d cut me dead, and 
so would the other fellows.” 

“Come now, old chap, you are not yourself. 
You’ve nothing to worry over. You’re a guy 
that’s got sand.” 

This had a reassuring effect on Bill. A 
doctor or a nurse might compliment him, but 
what do they know? But when a boy tells 
you you have “sand,” that’s different ! 

Frank was soon relating to him the fall into 
the net — the first account Daly had heard of 
it. Frank went on to tell about the ambulance 
and Father Boone, and the priest’s visit to his 
[ 115 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

parents, and again how the priest came late 
at night and went up to see him, his kind 
words to his mother, and finally his sending 
her home in the taxi. It all seemed like a 
movie to Daly. 

For some time he lay perfectly quiet. Then, 
although it cost him a deal of pain, he reached 
for Frank’s hand and grasped it firmly. Their 
eyes met. Bill felt a great yearning to tell 
Frank everything. He had fully determined 
to tell only Father Boone. Even that would 
be hard. But now he really wanted to tell 
Frank. It would be such a relief! 

While they were still grasping hands, he 
began, pausing after each sentence and speak- 
ing with an effort : 

“Mulvy, I’m a cur . . . don’t stop me . . . 
I’m worse . . . Let me go on . . . please . . . 

I’ve got to get this off my mind or bust . . . 

I’m bad, clean through, but from now on, 
never again . . . You’ve got a good home . . . 
You don’t know what mine was . . . drunken- 
ness, fights and the like . . . I’ve lived in the 
streets . . . nothing but roughnecks . . . 
became the worst of the lot . . . My Dad was 
sent to jail . . . Ma and me were in a bad 

way ... no money for rent or food . . . 

[n6] 


COMRADES 


Somehow Father Boone turned up . . . 
helped us out . . . Then he got me a job . . . 
After that he put me in the Club ... I 
didn’t fit there . . . You know that . . . 
Something you don’t know ... I hated the 
bunch because they were decent . . . picked 
a fight with you . . . You licked me . . . yes 
you did ... I had to clear out . . . But I was 
yellow and a thug ... I fought underhand 
against you all ... I did the meanest thing 
out.” 

At this point Frank tried to remonstrate 
with him, but at the same time he was keenly 
interested in what was coming. 

“I hated the whole bunch and Father Boone 
and everybody. So when the crowd left, I 
sneaked back and broke a lot of chairs, over- 
turned tables, tore down pictures, threw over 
the victrola, spilled ink on the floor. I knew 
it’d queer the crowd with Father Boone and 
spoil the McCormack treat. I got square 
. . . but . . . well, someone else has got square 
too. There are different kinds of pain, and my 
worst now is not my injuries.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Frank was 
too much amazed to say a word. Bill con- 
tinued: ‘Tm taking my medicine. If I’m not 

[ 117] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


the right sort the rest of my life, I hope to be 
cut and quartered. Look at Father Boone 
right afterwards helping my Dad . . . He’n’ I 
had a terrible scrap. We’d have killed each 
other only for mother. Then she got Father 
Boone to come over. I don’t know what he 
did — but — well, it was all different when I 
got back. Dad put out his hand to me. We 
knelt down. Said the ‘Hail Holy Queen.’ 
Father took the pledge. I felt like a whipped 
cur, all next day. I saw I’d have to square 
myself at any cost. That’s why I came to the 
Club. You know the rest.” 

Here he paused, heaved a sigh, and 
exclaimed, “O God, what a relief.” 

Frank’s feelings can be imagined. Here 
was the key to the mystery, and Father Boone 
justified. Apparently he had known all about 
the wreck — and it was natural to suppose 
that it was the work of a crowd. What a 
surprise to the director to see that damaged 
room! And worse — no explanation. It was 
all clear to Frank now. The fog was lifted. 
The missing parts of the picture fitted into 
place. But what of Father Boone? 

After a brief silence, which seemed to both 
a very long while, Frank gave an extra squeeze 
[iiB] 



“T broke chairs, smashed the table, over- 
^ turned the victrola, tore down pictures.” 









































































































































































COMRADES 


to Daly’s hand and said, “It’s all right, Bill, 
we’ll stand together. You can count on me 
to the limit.” 

The look of gratitude in Daly’s face told 
Frank that there was now a special bond 
between them. 

“You have told me so much, old man,” he 
said, “that I suppose you won’t mind if I ask 
you a few questions ?” 

“All you want,” replied Daly. 

“Well, first of all, does Father Boone know 
anything about the affair?” 

“Not as far as I know. I was intending to 
tell him that night of the fire, but you saw 
how it turned out. First I was going to tell 
the fellows, and then see Father Boone and 
squeal on myself to him.” 

“Dafy — that was a dirty job . . . but it’s 
past and done. You’re no longer yellow. Only 
one in a million would come back as you’re 
doing. We’re chums, Bill Daly, through thick 
and thin.” 

“I like you for that, Mulvy, and I hope 
you’ll never regret it. Here’s something,” he 
continued, timidly showing the crucifix in his 
other hand. “I’ve promised Him, never a 
crooked thing again, — and a promise to Him 

[ 119] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

means no going back.” They joined hands — 
and hearts. They were comrades now. With 
a look which showed that the past was buried, 
Frank tenderly said, 

“How’s the pain, old man?” 

“Well, since Fve told you so much, HI tell 
you a little more. It’s something awful. Pm 
not doing any baby stunts, — but — just the 
same Pve got an awful dose. While on the 
broad of my back, thinking, and in pain, I 
remembered that martyr boy the Sister told 
us about, who held the burning coals in his 
hands, and I said to myself, "Bill Daly, that 
kid didn’t have your score, but see what he 
endured for God.’ And that’s when I prom- 
ised. I just told Him I deserved it all, I’d take 
it for penance, and I promised to cut out the 
cry-baby stuff.” 

“Daly, you’re a brick.” 

To which Bill rejoined, “And Mulvy, you’re 
all gold — twenty-two carat.” 

“You’ll get over that, Daly,” replied Frank. 
“I must be going now. Mum is the word. 
What you’ve told me, is the same as not said. 
I’ll not breathe it to a living soul.” 

A tempest raged in Frank’s soul. His was a 
magnanimous character, and it pained him to 
[ 120 ] 


COMRADES 


think that circumstances should have framed 
for Father Boone, such a strong case against 
him. The director had placed absolute con- 
fidence in him. No wonder he showed such 
indignation. “And wasn’t it just like Father 
Boone — to turn in a half dozen men and fix 
things up at once, and then wait for develop- 
ments as if nothing had happened !” 

Frank made his way toward the Club. 
“If I can get hold of the janitor,” he thought, 
“I can find out all I want to know.” He 
turned off to the street where the janitor 
lived, and soon found his man. 

“Good evening, Mr. Dunn,” he began. 

“Good evening, sir.” 

In an apparently indifferent manner, Frank 
led up to his objective. But old Dunn sus- 
pected something right from the start. It is 
true that Father Boone had not imposed 
silence in regard to the mischief at the Club, 
but the janitor was a sensible and loyal man, 
and he judged that if Father Boone wanted 
anything to be said about the affair, he would 
sayfit himself. The indifference that Dunn dis- 
played whenever Frank tried to lead up to 
the point, was amazing. The boy finally gave 
up the flank attack and tried the front. 

[ 121 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Mr. Dunn, that was quite a bit of damage 
we had over there the other day, wasn’t it?” 

“Quite a bit,” said Dunn, “but I guess 
Daly was not hurt as badly as we thought 
at first.” 

“Oh, I don’t refer to the fire^but to the 
Club,” observed Frank. 

“There was no fire at the Club, as far as I 
know,” remarked Dunn. 

“No, but there was a whole lot of breakage 
over there, and you know all about it. Now, 
how in the name of Sam Hill did they fix 
things up by the time we got there in the 
evening?” 

“Young man, if you want to know any- 
thing about the Club, I think you’ll find 
Father Boone in his office at his usual hours. 
And now good night!” 

“By gum,” muttered Frank, “the old 
snoozer’s no fool. I’ll bet if he had an edu- 
cation, he’d be on top somewhere.” 

Meanwhile, Father Boone was in the Club 
office attending to the little matters that 
came up daily. He was poring over a letter 
which had come in the afternoon mail. It was 
written on exceptionally fine paper, and was 
signed “James Roberts.” The director in- 
[ 122 ] 


COMRAD E S 


dulged in a moment’s speculation. “Roberts, 
Roberts,” he reflected. “New name to me. 
I wonder what he wants. I hope it’s not a 
complaint,” he sighed, as he turned back to 
the first page. 

“Reverend Sir: 

I trust you will pardon my addressing 
you without knowing your name. I am 
sending this letter to the head of the 
Boys’ Club, as that is as definite as I can 
be for the moment. Later, I hope to call 
on you personally. 

I have just returned from Cuba and 
found my family in the Hotel Plaza 
instead of at their home, where I left 
them. They have informed me of what 
you already know better than myself. 
It was my house that was on fire, and my 
wife and daughter attribute the saving of 
their lives to a boy of your Club, who 
hitched up the detached ladder, and in 
doing so, met with such a dreadful 
accident. 

I’ve been home for only an hour, but 
my first duty, I consider, is to convey to 
you my gratitude and to inquire what I 

1 123 1 


A BOY KNIGHT 


can do for the boy. If you will let me 
know where he is, I shall have a trained 
nurse sent to care for him, and I shall 
consider it my privilege to do anything 
else that is possible. 

I await your reply. 

Gratefully, 

James D. Roberts.” 

Father Boone never allowed his corre- 
spondence to accumulate. Every evening saw 
his desk cleared. No letter that called for a 
reply was left over for the next day, if he 
could possibly help it. He answered this 
letter even before he read the rest which were 
on the table before him. 

“My dear Mr. Roberts: 

I want to thank you for your letter. 
The boy is out of danger, and is getting 
the best of care at the Lawrence Hos- 
pital. I shall let him know of your kind 
inquiry, and of your wish to be of assis- 
tance to him. 

With kindest regards, 

Sincerely, 

Jerome Boone, S .J.” 
[124] 


COMRADES 


“A good man to interest in Willie’s family,” 
he reflected, as he addressed the letter. 

Father Boone was always planning how he 
could help people. Every time he made the 
acquaintance of anyone in a position of 
authority or influence, he seized the oppor- 
tunity to remark: 

“If you ever need a good bright boy, let me 
know, and I shall send you one with whom 
you will be satisfied.” 

In this way, he got many a boy placed in a 
good position. Often, too, he got jobs for their 
fathers. He was always so careful to recom- 
mend only the right sort, that a word from 
Father Boone was the best recommendation 
a man or boy could have in getting work. 

Just as he finished his letter to Mr. Roberts, 
he heard a knock at his door, and a moment 
later, a bright little chap of about thirteen 
presented himself. 

“Good evening, Vincent,” said the priest. 
“What can I do for you?” 

“Please, Father,” began the lad, “my father 
is home from work three weeks now with 
rheumatism, and mother says would you give 
me a line to some place downtown to get a 
job?” 


[ 125] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Well, my little man, have you got your 
working papers?” 

“Yes, Father, my mother went with me to 
the City Hall this morning and got them.” 

“It’s too bad, Vine., that a bright boy like 
you must give up school so soon. But I sup- 
pose your mother wouldn’t do this unless she 
had to. I’ll get you a place, and then we must 
see about your keeping up your studies at 
night school.” He wrote a line or two, and 
addressing the envelope, gave it to the boy. 

“Now, Vincent, I am sorry to do this, but 
you just make the best of it. I’m sending you 
to a very nice place with a good chance for 
advancement. The pay is not much, but 
you’re only thirteen, and it’s a fine start. 
Now that you are starting out, mark well 
what I say: Make yourself so useful that 
when there is a vacancy higher up, you will be 
the first boy they’ll think about. And what 
you do, do pleasantly. Good-bye and God 
bless you. And,” he added, as Vincent was 
going out the door, “let me know from time 
to time how you are doing.” 

The boy had gone but a few steps when, 
with a jerk, he wheeled round and returned. 
[126] 


COMRADES 


“O Father, excuse me,” he faltered, “I forgot 
to thank you.” 

“That’s all right,” said the priest. “The 
best way to thank me will be to let me hear a 
good report of you.” 

The priest’s next thought was, “I must 
run down to the hospital, and see Willie. 
But he does not worry me so much just now 
as Frank does. I can’t make out his conduct 
in regard to this Club mix-up. He is certainly 
an honorable boy and most considerate, and 
yet he has left me in the dark all this time. 
He knows that ‘committees’ are not my way 
of doing business. After last night, I’d like 
to drop the whole matter. But it is not an 
affair of sentiment. I must see it through for 
his sake, and for the sake of the rest also. If 
nothing develops before tomorrow night, I’ll 
take the initiative myself. I hate that, and 
I’d much rather they’d do the right thing of 
their own accord. But, — ” he shut down his 
desk, put on his hat and coat, and started for 
the hospital. 

Frank, at the same time, was on his way 
from Dunn’s to the Club. Once more he was 
going straight to the director, — to tell him 
now, that there must be a misunderstanding, 
[ 127] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


and that he was sorry to see him grieved. 
He saw the director’s point of view — of course 
he couldn’t explain — but perhaps Father 
Boone would understand that he wasn’t really 
slipping so badly. 

He was walking pretty fast, with his head 
down, his chin buried in his coat collar, and 
his hands deep in his pockets. Buried in his 
thoughts, he did not see Father Boone ap- 
proaching on his way to the hospital. The 
priest was almost on top of him before he was 
aware of his presence. Looking up suddenly 
he tipped his hat and stammered — “Good 
evening, Father.” 

“Good evening, sir,” answered the priest 
and hurried on. 

Frank stopped. He was dumfounded. 
“Good evening, sir! Sir, is it? So it’s ‘sir 
now? Good evening, sir." He kept on re- 
peating the phrase, indignation following his 
astonishment. He knew where the priest was 
going, and realized that the interview with 
him could not be held that evening. Another 
day of torture stood before him. He was about 
to give free rein to his feeling of injustice when 
he recollected again that the priest with the 
data he possessed was perfectly right in his 
[ 128 ] 


COMRADES 


attitude. So, instead of going to the Club, he 
turned aside and went into the church. It 
was always open from five in the morning 
until ten at night. Going up to the altar of 
the Sacred Heart, he knelt down and prayed. 

Long and earnestly he poured out his soul 
to God, ending with the words, “Accept, O 
Sacred Heart of Jesus, my sad heart as a 
sacrifice and bless my father and mother and 
Bill Daly and Father Boone.” 

So saying, he arose light-hearted and made 
his way into the street. He actually began to 
whistle, and when a boy whistles, he is all 
right with the world. He did not mind now 
how misunderstood he might be. It was no 
longer a load of lead that weighed him down. 
Rather, his sorrow had turned to gold. It 
was something that God esteemed. He had 
been able to give God something acceptable 
to Him, because it had cost him a good deal. 
That made him happy. 

Father Boone was on his way to the hospital 
when he had met Frank so abruptly. For an 
instant he too had held his breath. Then as he 
hurried on, he could not but wonder whether 
Frank’s chin in collar, hands deep in pockets 
attitude, had meant that he was trying to 

[ 129] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


slink past. Certainly his greeting had been 
sudden and disturbed. “Well,” declared the 
priest to himself, “I’ll settle this whole thing 
tomorrow. It’s gone on long enough.” 

Father Boone entered the hospital and 
ascending the stairway leading to the office, 
found himself before the Bureau of Informa- 
tion. 

“How is that little fire hero?” he asked of 
the clerk. 

“I’ll ’phone up and see,” was the reply. 

“O, don’t mind, I am going right up. I 
just asked because I thought you had news of 
him here.” 

“It’s only the serious patients whose condi- 
tion we have here, Father,” answered the clerk. 

“In that case,” remarked the priest, “at 
least he is not seriously ill; that is some news 
anyway.” 

There was a sign on the door of the ward 
saying: “Closed, doctors visiting.” He knew 
that this did not apply to him, as he was al- 
lowed entrance any hour of the day or night. 
Still, as it was not an urgent case, he decided 
to wait until the doctors came out. The nurse 
at the desk offered him her chair, which he 
declined with thanks. 

[ 130] 


COMRADES 


“But, if you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ll sit 
on the edge of this table.” 

“Certainly, Father,” she replied, “until I 
run and get you a chair.” 

“No, no,” he protested, “I like this much 
better.” 

So the ice was broken. 

“You have got one of my little fellows in- 
side,” he continued. “How is he getting 
along?” 

“You mean that Daly boy?” 

He nodded assent. 

“Why, we are all in love with him. He is 
one grand boy. This morning the doctor had 
to remove some loose skin from his arm, and 
he found that he would have to do a little 
cutting of the flesh to get at some of the skin 
which had become imbedded. The boy heard 
him say to me, Tt will hurt him like the mis- 
chief.’ The lad spoke up, ‘Go ahead, Doc. If 
you can stand it, I guess I can.’ 

[ “The doctor didn’t want to use cocaine on 
it, so he took the boy at his word. It was 
simply terrific, Father! We had to pull the 
skin out with pincers. He just tightened his 
jaws, and never let out a moan. That boy is 
a credit to you. He has always taken just 
[ I 3 I ] 


A B OY KNIGHT 


what was given him and has been no trouble 
to anybody.” 

As Father Boone was getting ready to re- 
ply, the doctors passed into the next ward. 

The priest went in at once to see his patient. 
Daly’s eyes, as big as saucers, greeted him. 

“ Well, that was a nice scare you gave us all, 
you little rascal,” was the priest’s greeting. 
All Bill could do was grin. “They tell me 
there is nothing the matter with you, that 
you are just a bit frightened.” 

“O, I don’t know about the frightened 
part,” rejoined Daly, “I guess there was some- 
body else in that boat, as well as myself.” 

“My boy, I want to congratulate you. Not 
on your ladder stunt, anyone could do that, 
and not fall off, either; but on your fortitude 
here. True, there are no bones broken or 
anything like that, but you’ve had a lot of 
acute pain to endure, and they tell me you 
have not whimpered. You have given the 
Club a good name here. William, I am proud 
of you.” 

Poor Bill ! All day long he had been fortify- 
ing his resolution to tell Father Boone every- 
thing. But after this praise from the priest, 
he could no more touch on the affair than fly. 

1 132] 


COMRADES 


Two or three times he made an attempt to 
begin, but the words stuck in his throat. 
They talked on a lot of things, but after that 
first allusion to the Club, there did not seem 
to be another opening for Bill. At last, how- 
ever, he made one great effort. 

“Father,” he cried out, “there is something 
on my mind, I must let it out ! It’s got me all 
on fire inside. V 11 burn up unless I out with 
it.” 

Father Boone could see his excitement and 
knowing that the boy was in an overwrought 
condition, which must not be made worse, 
took him quietly by the hand, patted his 
head and said, “Now that’s all right, Willie. 
Don’t take things to heart so much; we’ll have 
a good talk when you are yourself again.” 
He saw Bill look steadily into his eyes and 
swallow once or twice, but he did not under- 
stand that the words of an accusation were 
sticking in the boy’s throat and blocking his 
speech. So thinking that the lad had need of 
rest and quiet, he spoke a few kindly words 
and withdrew. 

Daly felt like calling after him, but before 
he could make up his mind, Father Boone had 
gone. Usually, the priest did not leave a bed- 

, [ 133 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

side without suggesting confession, if the pa- 
tient were at all seriously ill. Even if the ill- 
ness were slight, he frequently took occasion 
of it to reconcile the sick person with God, and 
to bring into the soul that comfort which goes 
so far to restore health to the body, besides 
bringing solace and healing to the mind. But 
as director of the Club, he felt a special deli- 
cacy in suggesting confession to one of his 
boys, and since, just now, Bill had seemed 
bordering on hysteria, the priest believed that 
a little reassurance was the proper thing. 

“The poor boy got a worse shaking up than 
he is aware of,” he thought, “but it will pass 
off soon. I shall see him tomorrow, and ar- 
range to bring him Holy Communion. The 
dear Lord will do the rest.” So he hastened 
home. 

Daly, meanwhile, had quieted down some- 
what. But reflections came thick and fast. 
“Father Boone congratulated me, did he? 
If he only knew what he was congratulating ! 
Yes, I’m a brave boy! Couldn’t open my 
mouth. Mulvy would act that way, — not! 
I wish I had a little of his ‘sand.’ Gee, next 
time I’ve got to get it out — even if it chokes 
me!” 


[ 134 ] 


COMRAD E S 


He turned over and tried to sleep. The lights 
were low in the ward now, and a great quiet 
reigned. But sleep would not come. He began 
by counting sheep going through a gate. One, 
two, three — he got up to a hundred, and there 
before his eyes was a big black sheep stuck 
in the gate. “ That’s me,” he uttered, and 
stopped the count. Then he tried going up a 
very high stairs, counting the steps one by 
one. At last he got to the top and looking 
about he saw a room, in disorder. Broken 
chairs, upset tables, pictures on the floor, 
and a boy spilling ink. “That’s me,” he 
sighed. Then he rehearsed all that his mother 
and Frank had told him of Father Boone’s 
kindness. He saw the ambulance rushing 
along and the priest watching tenderly over 
an unconscious form. “That’s me,” he 
thought to himself. 

He began to feel very thirsty. “I wish I 
had a drink,” he sighed. An hour passed, two, 
three. He heard the clock strike twelve. A 
nurse was passing. He called to her and asked 
her for a drink of water. She drew near to 
him, observed his dry hot face and glistening 
eyes. His tongue was parched and thick. 
She felt his pulse. Then she took out a ther- 
[ 135 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

mometer and put it in his mouth. He sub- 
mitted patiently to it all, but when the ther- 
mometer was withdrawn, he said beseeching- 
ly, “ Please give me a drink/’ 

The nurse assured him that she would at- 
tend to him and left his side. Going to her 
desk in the corridor, she called the house 
surgeon. “I think, doctor,” she told him over 
the phone, “you’d better come up. That 
Daly boy has quite a temperature.” The 
doctor was soon in consultation with her, and 
together they went to the patient. After a 
careful inspection, they withdrew. 
“Typhoid,” exclaimed the doctor. 

“I was afraid so,” she replied. 


[136] 




Chapter IV 
The Field of Honor 


The next morning Father Boone, in his 
office, at the Club, sent for Thomas Dunn. 
When the janitor came, the priest said, “It 
is several days now since that room was 
upset. I expected the boys to report it at 
once. But not even the officials have said a 
word to me yet. I know I could find out about 
it if I wished to quiz them, but I don’t want 
to do that. It may have been some sort of a 
mix-up in which the fellows all feel that to 
say a word about it would be mean. They may 
not take the serious view of it that I do. So 
now I am going to start in, in my own way, 
to get at the bottom of it. And I begin with 
you. Have you observed anything that would 
give me a clue?” 

“Well no, I can’t say that I have,” replied 
Dunn. "The lads have been unusually well 
behaved since that night.” 

[137] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

“Very well, but if you should come across 
anything that will throw light on the mys- 
tery, let me know.” 

Dunn turned to go, but suddenly recollected 
something. “I don’t know whether it’s much 
of a clue, Father, or if it’s worth while men- 
tioning, but one of the boys was over to my 
house last night seeming to want me to talk 
on the matter.” 

“Why, that’s a straw that shows how the 
wind blows. Who was the boy?” 

“Well, you know, Father, I don’t know the 
boys much by name. But as he was going 
out I called my boy Harry and I says to him, 
‘Harry, who is that chap, do you know’? 

“ ‘Yes, Pa,’ he says, and he gave me his 
name, but I forget it. I’ll have to ask Harry, 
if you like, and let you know this evening.” 

“Very well, Thomas, do so.” 

Dunn left, and was half way downstairs 
when he turned back again. “Pardon me, 
Father, but I think I’ve got the name or near 
it. Harry said the boy was Murray, but I’m 
not quite sure, but it was Murray, or Mur- 
phy, or Mulvy or some such name.” 

At the name Mulvy, an electric spark 
seemed to pass through the director. Dunn 

[138] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

did not notice it, as he went out at once. 
He caught the words “ Thank you, Thomas,” 
as he was leaving the room, and that was all. 

But Father Boone! This was adding insult 
to injury! So Mulvy did know something 
about it! And instead of coming to the di- 
rector, he had gone over to the janitor! A 
nice way for a trusted and honorable boy to 
act! 

Father Boone had been trying all along to 
convince himself that somehow Mulvy would 
come out of it clear and clean. He had thought 
of a thousand excuses for the delay — questions 
of divided allegiance or some point or other 
of honor and so on. But Mulvy’ s going to the 
janitor to get information looked like an 
underhand mission, certainly. What for? — 
To find out what the director knew, or how 
he had taken it — or to arrange some explana- 
tion ? 

All these questions shot through his mind 
with the rapidity of lightning. None of them 
carried its own answer. All of them seemed 
out of harmony with what he knew of Mulvy. 
And yet, there were the facts. 


r 139] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


(II) 

The parochial school was around the corner 
from the church and club and it was at this 
very hour that the department of which young 
Harry Dunn was a member had been turned 
loose in the play yard for recess. A game ot 
tag was soon on, and Dunn, dodging in and 
out, ran right into Ned Mullen. The collision 
sent Dunn sprawling to the ground. He was 
two years younger than Ned, but very stocky. 
It was nobody’s fault that he got the bump; 
but nevertheless as soon as he rose to his 
feet, he rushed at Ned and gave him a kick in 
the shins. Ned’s first impulse was to box his 
ears, but as the boy was so small, he merely 
took hold of him and gave him a good shaking. 

Dunn began to blubber. In a thrice a crowd 
gathered, and Dunn, seeing that he was being 
teased, got ugly. Turning to Ned, who was 
about to back off with Tommy, he cried out: 
“Yes, you belong to the crowd that smashed 
up things! Father Boone will fix you!” 

The threat didn’t mean much to Tommy 
and Ned and they walked away. 

Harry Dunn, however, had heard just 
enough from his father about the Club dam- 
age to think he could best get even by telling 
[ HO ] ■ 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

his teacher about it. So, when the boys got 
into their school rooms again, he tried to tell 
the Sister that two fellows had thrown him 
down in the yard. She paid no attention to 
him. After class, he went to her again, and 
said that the boys who broke things at the 
Club were trying to pick on him. “Mind your 
own business, Harry,” she said, “and nobody 
will pick on you, you little tattletale.” As the 
boys say, he got “his.” 

That afternoon Father Boone, passing 
through the school after class, stopped to talk 
to the Sister in the vestibule. Just then along 
came young Dunn. 

“Here’s a young gentleman who is talking 
about a row at the Club,” she said to the 
priest, as she held the lad by her eye. She 
thought the boy had made a mountain out 
of a mole hill, and that the director’s shrug 
or laugh would show the youngster where he 
stood. Instead, Father Boone grew instantly 
serious. The Sister saw she had made a mis- 
take, but before she could change the subject, 
he said, disregarding the boy: 

“It was bad business, Sister. I feel ashamed 
and hurt about it. I did not think my boys 
would act so.” 


[ Hi 1 


A BOY KNIGHT 


Then he continued, “ But how did you know 
about it, Sister?’ 5 

“O, a little bird told me.” 

“ Indeed, and may I ask what the little 
bird told you?” 

“ Really, Father, it’s not worth while re- 
ferring to. I shouldn’t have recalled it but for 
that young lad who passed us this moment. 
You know him, don’t you?” 

“I can’t say that I do.” 

“He is Harry Dunn, Father, the son of your 
janitor.” 

“O, that’s interesting, Sister; so it seems 
that I know less — ” 

At this moment he was interrupted by a 
messenger who told him that he was wanted 
for a sick call. He hurried to the rectory. 
A woman in the parlor was waiting to give 
him the name and address of a sick person. 
“Why, that,” he exclaimed, “is the house 
where the Dalys live.” 

“Yes, Father.” 

“How old is this boy you say is so ill?” 

“About twelve, Father.” 

“Do you know whether he is seriously ill; 
has the doctor been there ?” 

“O yes, Father, and he said the boy had 
[ 142] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

typhoid. There is another case in the house 
also, and the Board of Health has been 
around.” 

He promised to go at once to administer 
the consolations of religion to the sick boy. 
“I am glad the Board of Health is on the 
ground,” he said to himself, as he was on his 
way over. “From what I saw of conditions 
there, it’s a wonder they’re not all down with 
typhoid. I suppose Willie would have had it, 
except that he is such a robust and active 
lad.” 

When the priest had finished his ministra- 
tions, he went up to the Daly flat. After his 
knock at the door, he heard quick movements 
inside and then a rather long silence. Fie 
rapped again. This time the door was opened 
and Mrs. Daly met him. The reason for the 
delay was evident. She had been crying and 
did not care to exhibit herself to a neighbor. 
But on seeing Father Boone she broke out 
afresh, at the same time showing him a tele- 
gram she had just received from the hospital. 
It read: “William Daly dangerously ill. 
You will be admitted any hour.” It was 
signed by the superintendent. 

Father Boone put two and two together, 

[ 143] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


Typhoid.” He made up his mind at once 
just what to do. “You stay here until I send 
a cab for you; then come along.” He himself 
hurried downstairs, walked quickly over to 
the trolley and in ten minutes was at the 
hospital. Not until he got there did he go to 
the phone and call up a taxi for Mrs. Daly. 
He had a good start now, and could pave the 
way for her. 

Going immediately to the ward, he found 
the nurse at Daly’s bedside. “Rather sud- 
den,” he remarked. 

“Very,” she replied. 

“There were no signs last night, nurse, as 
far as I could see. What seems to be the 
matter?” 

“Typhoid.” 

All this was in a whisper. 

He continued, “I’ll just see how he is and 
say a few words to him before his mother 
comes.” 

“He is delirious, Father.” 

“Maybe he’ll know me,” he said, and bent 
over the patient. He took his hand gently, 
saying, “Willie boy, you have not said ‘hello’ 
to me yet.” No answer. “You know Father 
Boone, don’t you, Willie?” 

[ 144] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 


“ Hello, Frank,” was the response. “ I wish 
I had your ‘sand/ I say, Frank,” he con- 
tinued, “I’m starting right when this thing is 
over.” He paused for a moment and then 
resumed. “I don’t blame the fellows. I’m 
down on myself now.” Another pause. 
“ Frank, you tell Father Boone Pm sorry. I 
want to see him. You are a brick. I am . . . 
O, Pll tell . . . the whole thing if it . . . 
chokes me.” This last was said with an effort. 

Father Boone attributed all he was saying 
to delirium. He realized that the patient’s 
condition was serious, and prepared to give 
him the Last Sacraments. As he took out the 
Holy Oils, and was about to anoint him the 
boy’s eyes looked calmly at him and he ut- 
tered the words: “ Hello, Father.” 

The priest was very glad that the boy was 
conscious, and not knowing how long he would 
remain so, he started to hear his confession as 
quickly as possible. He began by receiving 
from him a general acknowledgment of his 
sins and contrition for them, intending, if 
time permitted, to hear his confession in 
detail. “You are sorry for all the sins of your 
life, my child ?” 

“Yes, Father.” 

[ 145 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Say the Act of Contrition/’ 

He began: “O my God, I am most heartily 
sorry for all my sins and I . . . and I ... 
and . . .” 

When Father Boone saw that William was 
lapsing into unconsciousness, he took a cruci- 
fix and holding it to the boy’s lips, said, “Kiss 
the crucifix, my child, and say, ‘Jesus have 
mercy on me.’ ” As he gave him absolution, 
he heard him murmur, “Jesus . . . have 

mer . . . .” and off he fell again into delirium. 

The priest was sorry that the confession had 
been cut short, but was very glad that he was 
able to give him absolution. Then he anointed 
him, for Daly’s condition did not permit of 
his receiving Holy Viaticum. The priest had 
barely finished the administration of the last 
rites, when Mrs. Daly appeared. He quickly 
approached her and cautioned her sternly 
not to show emotion in the presence of the 
patient, as any excitement would only make 
his condition worse. 

“O my Willie, my Willie,” was her answer, 
and her body shook with emotion. “Willie was 
the good boy, he was the good boy to his 
mother. O blessed Mother, help me now in 
my hour.” 


[146] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

The first burst of grief over, she really 
showed wonderful control and approached the 
bed quite calmly. Bill was now sleeping. 
The mother sat by his side with her hand on 
his. Seeing that the priest was waiting, she 
said, “Are you waiting to give him the 
Sacraments, Father ?” 

“No, I have already done that,” he replied, 
“but, if you don’t mind, I’ll wait for you.” 

“No, no, Father dear,” she said, “don’t 
wait for me, for I am afraid it would be a long 
wait.” 

He considered for a moment, and decided 
to leave. 


(HI) 

On his way home, Father Boone had time 
to review the occurrence at the school earlier 
in the day. It was the Dunn boy whom the 
Sister had pointed out, as she told him the 
little incident. He said the Club boys were 
“picking on him.” It could be that they were 
retaliating for something connected with the 
Club affair. He did not like the set of things. 
But if he could have seen what was occurring 
in some other quarters, he might have liked 
the looks of things still less. 

1 147] 


A B OY KNIGHT 


After school, Ned and Tommy sought 
Frank. The Regal High was but a short dis- 
tance from the parochial school. 

“Say, Frank,” began Ned, “that Dunn kid 
is a fresh guy. Today, after bumping into 
Tommy and me, he got ugly and gave me a 
kick. I shook him up a bit, and he starts in 
and blabs about the fight with you and ‘Bull.’ 
Afterwards, he told the Sister about it, only 
he made it ten times worse than it was. To 
hear him talk you would think we had a free 
fight over there. He spoke of breaking things 
and a lot of stuff like that.” 

Of course Frank saw at once what had hap- 
pened. Harry had heard his father mention 
the damaged room. He kept his surmises 
to himself, however, replying, “O, don’t 
mind that fellow, he’s only a kid.” 

“But, Frank,” continued Ned, “if you 
heard how the thing has spread and how your 
name is mixed up in it, you’d mind.” 

Frank laughed off this observation, and 
tried to turn the talk to something else. But 
as they walked along, they were stopped by at 
least three different boys who asked what the 
row at the Club had been. 

By that time Frank began to get anxious. 

[ i 4 8 ] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

The mix-up was bad enough to face when only 
the Club and Father Boone and his mother 
knew. How could the explanation ever catch 
up with the story — especially if young Dunn 
got to talking! Of course, in the end every- 
thing would come out all right. In due time. 
Father Boone would learn the truth from 
Daly himself, but meanwhile — 

He knew his mother was as much upset 
about the misunderstanding as himself. And 
to have affairs still further complicated would 
be pretty bad. Father Boone must know a 
good deal, for the place could not have been 
set right without his knowledge. But he did 
not know who had done it, nor any of the 
details. That was evident from Daly’s story, 
and so up to now, he was angry with Frank 
because he had not reported. It had all the 
evidences of a free row surely — and his in- 
dignation was justified — and especially against 
an official. But now suppose this talk should 
reach Father Boone and that it should asso- 
ciate him with the affair as one of its leaders ! 

The very thought made Frank shudder, 
until he recalled that Bill was not only willing, 
but anxious to make a clean breast of his 
spiteful deed. So in the end, all would turn 

[ 149] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


out right. For the time being, he was under a 
cloud. There was nothing to do but wait 
for the wind to blow it away or the sun to 
dissipate it. 

But even as he meditated, the cloud was 
getting thicker and blacker. He had hardly 
returned to school for the afternoon session, 
when his teacher asked him if the report were 
true, that he was deposed from his office as 
secretary. The inquiry gave him a distinct 
shock. He had the greatest respect and affec- 
tion for his professor, and that Mr. Collins 
should entertain for a moment the thought 
that he had done anything to deserve the cen- 
sure of Father Boone, was very painful to 
him. 

“This is the first I have heard of it,” 
Frank answered. 

“I am so glad I was misinformed,” was the 
reply. 

That afternoon, Frank’s thoughts could not 
be held in check. There was just the possi- 
bility that Father Boone had taken some 
further action. When his name was called 
for recitation in Caesar his mind was else- 
where. It was not like Frank to hesitate when 
called upon, but now he was at sea. The 
[ i5°i 


7HE FIELD 2 ) F HONOR 

teacher saw his predicament, and having 
genuine regard for him said, “Don't you 
agree with the preceding translation? Smith, 
try that passage again.” Smith repeated 
and Frank, now master of the situation, took 
up the portion assigned him. But his mind 
soon wandered away again. He began to 
reflect on the consideration his teacher had 
shown him, and to wonder if his absent- 
mindedness suggested the disquiet of a guilty 
conscience. It seemed as though every fellow 
in the class was watching him. 

When school was out, he went to Mr. 
Collins to thank him. “I was all upset, sir, 
by what you said^before class.” 

“I'm sorry, Frank, that I referred to the 
matter at all. I really was sure, knowing you 
as I do, that it was a false rumor.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Collins.” 

After school, Frank went straight to the 
Club to $ e if Father Boone were there, and 
to find out from him if there were anything 
back of the report. The priest was not in his 
office. Frank turned into the reading room and 
from force of habit went to look at the notice 
board where the items of interest to the Club 
were usually posted. To his amazement he read : 

[151] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“The Office of Secretary is hereby 
discontinued. Members will hereafter 
deal personally with the Director. 

Jerome Boone.” 

Frank’s head was in a whirl. He began to 
get dizzy. Falling back into a chair, he re- 
peated again and again: “The office of Secre- 
tary is hereby discontinued.” “A direct 
slap!” he gasped. “Condemned unheard. It 
is not fair. That’s no way to deal with a 
fellow. It’s an outrage. I did not believe that 
Father Boone could do such a thing. Con- 
demned, disgraced and the whole parish 
talking about it ! It will cut my mother to the 
very heart. I’ve got to keep it from her — 
to put a stop to it right now. Pll go to the 
rectory and have it out with him. This is 
what I get for not taking a firm stand in the 
beginning.” 

He sat with his head on his arms on the 
table. His inclination was to give way to his 
feelings, but after a moment, he jumped up, 
stood erect and exclaimed, “Pll win out.” 

He started for the rectory, but on his way, 
he began to hesitate. “What grievance have 
I got anyway? When it comes down to 

[152] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

‘ kicking,’ what ‘kick’ have I got coming? 
From Daly’s own story, there was an awful 
job done. No one on earth could believe it the 
work of one or two. Father Boone naturally 
expected some word from me. And if old 
Dunn told him I was over there pumping 
him — ? That was a bad move — puts me in 
deeper. Young Dunn was only repeating what 
he got from his father. It certainly looks bad. 
And if I start something, what can I say? 
I’d be cornered, no matter which way I’d 
turn. The only thing to do is to lie low for a 
while, and let things shape themselves. Daly’ll 
tell the whole thing himself and then it will 
be my turn. And then Father Boone — gee — 
I’ll feel sorry for him then!” So Frank put 
off his visit to the priest and went home. 

(IV) 

If Frank had experienced a sense of relief 
in deciding not to see the priest, it was short- 
lived. He walked into his home, and faced 
Father Boone and his mother engaged in 
serious conversation. His heart leaped into 
his mouth. The worst had happened! The 
priest evidently considered this affair so 
serious that he had come to see his mother. 

[153] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


And it would break her heart to have a priest 
complain of him! And especially Father Boone 
— that would be a dagger thrust! These and 
like thoughts flashed through his mind in an 
instant. 

As a matter of fact, Frank’s deductions 
were all wrong. Mrs. Mulvy was the President 
of the Parish Relief Association of which 
Father Boone had charge. Hence it was not 
unusual for him to call on Mrs. Mulvy to 
give her a list of poor to be visited and helped. 
He was on such an errand now. 

Father Boone’s method of directing a club 
found no place for carrying information to 
parents. He preferred to settle matters with 
the boys themselves, and in a manner that 
would be helpful to them, and that would 
leave no sting. In his mind, it would be an 
acknowledgment of defeat if he had to carry a 
case into the home. He had never done it yet. 

After his instant of hesitation, and con- 
vinced that he knew the subject of conversa- 
tion, Frank assumed an indifferent air and 
stepped forward to greet the priest. Father 
Boone continued to talk. Frank waited a 
moment, bewildered, and then said, “Good 
afternoon, Father.” 

[ 154 ] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

“Good afternoon, sir” was the response. 

Frank stiffened, every muscle of his body 
became like steel. He could not look at his 
mother. If he did, he might break down and he 
did not want to give the director that satis- 
faction. So he stood facing the priest. 

All three were embarrassed. Mrs. Mulvy 
knew the significance of that sir . Frank, sure 
now of his suspicions, made a desperate plunge. 

“I am sorry, Father, that you felt obliged 
to carry this matter to my mother, but I 
suppose you know best.” 

Father Boone literally gasped. For a mo- 
ment he looked at Mrs. Mulvy, then he turned 
back to Frank. Realizing that the matter had 
come to an issue, and without his doing, he 
said, in a deliberate, penetrating tone, 

“Frank Mulvy, do you, or do you not, 
know anything about that shameful destruc- 
tion at the Club?” Already Frank saw his 
folly. He was in just the corner he had fore- 
seen. Acknowledgment would mean the 
betrayal of a sacred confidence. Every mo- 
ment of silence was agony to his mother. 
Denial he could not make, for he had never 
in his whole life made a conscious mis-state- 
ment. Silence was fatal. Denial was impossi- 

[ 155] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


ble. Acknowledgment was betrayal of Bill’s 
confidence. What could he do? 

Again the priest said slowly and solemnly: 
“Do... you... or... do you... not... know... 
about that act of destruction ?” 

“Speak up, Frank,” his mother said, im- 
ploringly. 

At the sound of that voice and the look of 
that face, he collapsed. His pent up emotions of 
the past days burst out in sobs, his body shook 
convulsively. Both priest and mother tried to 
soothe him. That only made it worse. Father 
Boone turned away and stood at the window, 
looking out. Then with only a quiet and 
casual good-bye, he took up his hat and left. 

Hardly had the door closed behind him 
when Frank threw his arms about his mother, 
and burst into renewed sobs. Mrs. Mulvy 
was puzzled and distressed but she had full 
faith in her boy. She let him have his cry 
out, and then said gently: “Don’t mind, 
dear, you are mother’s best boy; she knows 
this will come out all right.” 

“O mother, if you feel that way, and will 
trust me, without asking me a single question, 
I promise you it will come out more than all 
right.” 

[156] 



“a yf OTHER, if you will trust me, it will come 

out all right.” 



THE FIELD OF HONOR 

“Very well, darling,” she replied, “Til say 
nothing again on the matter except you your- 
self bring it up.” 

“O, Fm so glad, mother, because now I 
can see it through. I don’t mind what others 
say or think as long as it is all right with you.” 

“But I feel so sorry for Father Boone,” she 
sighed. “He is apparently all at sea. He 
thinks the world of you, Frank, and that is 
what hurts him.” 

“I know, mother, and that is what hurts 
me, too, but there is no help for it at present. 
He’s got to get all the facts first — and I 
can’t — ” He broke off and then added, shyly, 
“You know, mother, I think we are a good 
deal the same. Only, of course, his will is so 
strong, he won’t show what he feels. The 
other day there were tears in his eyes, but he 
didn’t know I was seeing him.” 

“Mother is proud of her boy to hear him 
talk that way. Fm so glad that you’re not 
angry with poor Father Boone — it is hard on 
him.” 

“Maybe I would be, mother, if I did not 
know him so well.” 

A great load was off Frank’s mind and the 
tension was gone. Nothing could matter now. 

[ 157] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


He could face anything and everything. He 
realized that, at most, only a few days would 
intervene before Bill Daly would clear up the 
mystery. 

(V) 

When Father Boone left Mrs. Mulvy and 
Frank, he had indeed troublesome thoughts 
for companion. The conviction that Frank 
knew a good deal about the matter was now 
absolutely sure. Evidently, also, the boy was 
in some way implicated in a conspiracy of 
silence. His whole appearance showed that 
he was holding back something and that he 
was doing so reluctantly. His complete col- 
lapse indicated a great interior struggle. It 
also showed that the boy was naturally high- 
minded and noble. For otherwise, he never 
would have broken down, as he did. 

But what was holding him back? Why 
should he fear to trust the director? He found 
no answer to free him from his quandary. 
He would gladly settle the whole matter, and 
regard the affair closed, if he considered 
only his own feelings. But his duty to the 
boys must not be shirked because it caused 
present pain to himself or others. “Better 

[158] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

to have a tooth pulled,” he said, “than to 
have it the source of future trouble.” 

When Father Boone entered his room, he 
found several letters on his desk. They were 
mostly Church matters. But one was differ- 
ent. It was on better quality of stationery 
than the ordinary. The envelope and the 
paper bore a monogram. Opening it, he found 
these lines: 

Dear Father Boone: 

I want to thank you for all your kind- 
ness to John. Enclosed is a little contri- 
bution for the Club. Hereafter, it will 
be impossible for John to attend the Club 
meetings, and so I request you to drop 
his name from membership. 

Sincerely yours, 

Julia Harkins. 

(Mrs. John Harkins.) 
To Rev. Jerome Boone, S. J. 

John Harkins resigned from the Club!... 
Anyone who knew Father Boone’s ideas about 
the Club would have understood at once what 
this resignation meant to him. Mrs. Harkins’ 
letter didn’t explain why it was “impossible 
for John to attend the Club” but it was 
[ 159 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


clearly written between the lines. John 
Harkins was a boy enjoying exceptional home 
advantages and his refinement, manliness and 
social standards made him just the type to 
give “tone” to the Club. 

Mrs. Harkins was rightly very careful of the 
associations her son formed, and Father Boone 
had been her guarantee that in the Club 
John would mingle with perhaps poor, but 
good and manly boys. Evidently rumors of 
the affair had reached her. 

“The Club is discredited! The director has 
been asleep. Cockle in the field. And here 
I am sitting and allowing the weeds to grow 
and the wheat to be choked. I will get to the 
bottom of this at once. With the Club’s name 
in question, I am certainly justified in drastic 
action — in probing the matter directly. I will 
send for Mulvy right away. I should have 
done it long ago.” 

In answer to his summons, Frank was on 
hand a half hour ahead of time that evening, 
but not ahead of Father Boone. He went 
straight to the director’s office and found him 
engaged at his desk. 

“Sit down, Frank,” the priest began, as he 
stopped work. “I am going to get right down 
[ i6o ] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

to business. I am speaking to you as an official 
of the Club. The Club is being discredited. 
The parish is filled with reports and rumors. 
I am being discredited. Look at that letter. 
Things have gone too far. Heretofore, I have 
not asked you any questions on this matter 
because your duty was plain. I wanted you 
to perform it like a man, unsolicited. You 
have not done it, I regret to say, and now I 
must question you like the others. The wel- 
fare of the Club is at stake, and its fitness 
for carrying on its work, imperiled. Decent 
parents won’t want their boys to belong. It 
is abroad in the parish that rowdyism is 
rampant here. I want to nail the nasty rumor, 
and place it where it belongs. There is an 
explanation, and I want you to help me get it. 
Frank Mulvy, did you have a hand in the 
wreckage wrought in the Club the other night ? 
Answer me yes or no." 

“No, Father.” 

“Do you know anything about it ?” 

“That I cannot answer, Father.” 

“You cannot answer! You cannot answer! 
Do you mean to say that you refuse to do your 
duty? Cannot! What do you mean, sir?” 

In an agitated voice, Frank replied, “Fath- 
[ 161 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


cr, I cannot say any more, except to add that 
I am doing what you yourself have always 
inculcated.” 

“Neglect of duty! Explain yourself, sir.” 

“Not neglect of duty, Father, but regard 
for honor. You have always held that up to 
us, along with our religion, and it is honor 
now that makes me decline to say more. I 
will answer any questions about myself or 
anything that I can answer by official knowl- 
edge, and take the consequences. More I 
cannot say.” 

“And more I do not want you to do, Frank. 
But tell me, why did you not at least inform 
me of the wreckage; that was official?” 

“Father, I didnotknowof that until recently.” 

“What, do you mean to say that all that 
terrible row occurred, and that it's out all over 
the parish, and you, the chief official of the 
Club at the time, did not know of it ?” 

“Father,” declared Frank, in trembling 
tones, “I know it all looks bad, all the appear- 
ances are against me, I have only my word 
and character to stand by me.” 

“It is your character that has stood by you 
till now, sir. Were you not Mulvy, I had acted 
differently. But it is because you are Mulvy 
[162] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

that I have trusted, until the Club and its 
director are discredited. But what’s the mat- 
ter, boy?” 

For of a sudden, Frank had turned white. 
He swayed a moment, but Father Boone 
caught him in his arms, laid him gently on 
the floor. It took but a dash of cold water to 
fully restore him, and for a moment he just 
stared into the face of the priest. Then 
Father Boone noticed how his color rushed 
back and his jaws set and he realized that the 
boy was suffering keen mental anguish. It 
came to him that there was something most 
unusual and extraordinary about the whole 
thing. 

After a bit Frank said in a voice choked with 
emotion, “I know you have suffered, Father, 
and that has hurt me.” He could say no more 
but after a little, he began again. “At first, 
I didfnot know anything about the matter, 
and when I did know, I could not speak. I 
wish I could clear the matter up, but I cannot 
do so honorably, and I know you don’t want 
me to do it dishonorably.” 

The priest patted him on the back and told 
him to do what was right and not to think of 
consequences. “And as you consider silence 

[163] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


the right thing now, I do not wish you to do 
otherwise than as you are doing.” 

“Thank you, Father,” replied Frank. “But 
please — I am true to you.” 

“Yes; I know,” answered the priest, “but 
it’s all a mystery, nevertheless, and it must 
be solved, and,” he added vigorously, “it 
shall be solved.” 

Frank went below. The priest closed the 
door, and fell into a brown study. “What am 
I to do?” he reflected. “This thing must be 
nailed. But how?” 

He was not looking for boys to punish, but 
for the solution of the problem, and the clear- 
ing of the good name of the Club. Taking out 
a large sheet of paper, he wrote in big letters 
for the notice board in the library reading 
room: 


“Boys of St. Leonard’s Club: 

This is an appeal to the boys who have 
the good name of the Club, and their own 
at heart. I want no boy to tell on an- 
other. But I do request that the perpe- 
trators of that act of wanton destruction 
declare themselves to me at once. You 
know my ways, and that I am the first to 
[i6 4 ] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

make every allowance and to see fair play. 

I await in the office a response to this 

notice this very night. 

Jerome Boone. ” 

The first boy to read the notice was Ned 
Mullen. “Whew!” he exclaimed, with a long 
whistle. He ran into the games-room, “Hey, 
fellows, see what’s up — some notice — riot act !” 

At first they paid no attention to him, 
saying merely, “Quit your guying, kid.” 

But as he shouted out, “Frank, Tom, Dick, 
come see the board, a real live circus is in 
town,” they all dropped their games, and 
trooped into the reading room. 

“Gee!” was the exclamation from every 
throat. 

“That’s news.” 

“What row is that?” 

“Wanton destruction!” 

“That sounds good.” 

“O, but say, it’s the real thing.” 

“That’s Father Boone’s handwriting. What 
does it mean?” 

Then they fell to asking questions all to- 
gether. 

Finally, it settled down to what had hap- 

[165] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


pened, and when it happened, and how it 
happened. Everybody asked everybody else 
what it was all about, and everybody told 
everybody he did not know. Some boys got 
around Frank and began to quiz him. 

“Did you see any damage done, Mulvy?” 

“No” 

“Let’s form a committee and send our 
regrets to Father Boone, and also say there 
must be a mistake.” 

They all agreed. 

“Name Mulvy spokesman of the commit- 
tee,” shouted McHugh. 

Frank protested, but they paid no attention 
to him. Soon the committee was formed, and 
was ready to go upstairs. They waited for 
Frank. As he did not move they said, “Step 
along, Mulvy, we are all ready.” 

“I said no. Count me out.” 

“Count you out, nothing,” yelled several. 
“You’re elected, now go.” 

Frank did not move. Sunney Galvin, one 
of the biggest boys in the Club, and a good 
fellow, walked up to him and said, “No non- 
sense, Frank, face the music; you owe it to 
Father Boone and the Club to help set mat- 
ters right.” 


[166] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

“Sunney, I said no, and that settles it.” 

“It settles nothing,” said Sunney. “Unless 
you are in the scrape yourself, you’ll go like 
a man and do your part. You have been 
chosen.” 

“Chosen or not, I don’t go. That’s final,” 
he said with vigor. 

“O ho, Mulvy, so there’s somebody in- 
volved after all! You wouldn’t play safe if 
you were not concerned.” 

“See here, Galvin,” said Frank, “you know 
me well enough to know that I am square. 
Give a fellow credit for knowing his own 
business.” 

“O that’s very well, and all that, Mulvy. 
But your business here and now is to do the 
duty you’ve been elected to. And if you 
don’t, you’re yellow.” 

“Yes, and something worse,” cried another. 

“Do you know too much for your own 
reputation?” shouted another. For although 
Frank was the best liked and most admired 
boy in the Club, boys are boys, and they talk 
right out. Frank knew they had a certain 
amount of right on their side and that was 
what helped him to swallow the insults, which 
otherwise he would have resented vigorously. 

[167] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


The crowd was rather amazed itself that he 
did not resent their insinuations more than 
he did. Gradually the word passed that he 
was in the thing himself, and did not dare face 
Father Boone. Dick resented that intensely. 

“He is not, and you all know it.” 

“Hank, old man,” he said, “clear yourself, 
come along with us.” 

“I can’t, Dick.” 

“O nonsense,” replied Dick, “you’ve got 
some honor bug in your bonnet and you’re 
making a fool of yourself. Come along now, 
and give the crowd a solar plexus.” 

“Dick, please don’t urge. I tell you I can’t go.” 

The crowd stood around, listening to the 
dialogue, giving Dick every encouragement 
and signalling to Frank to give in. When the 
fellows saw his stubborn stand, they resented 
it. It was not fair. It looked compromising. 

While they stood, thus-minded, Dick said 
rather timidly, “May I ask you a question. 
Hank?” There were only a few boys in the 
Club who could call Frank by that name. 
Dick was one of them. 

“Certainly, kid, fire away.” 

“Did you have anything to do with this 
racket?” 


[168] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

“No.” 

“I knew it,” said Dick. “That’s why I 
asked you. “Now another question. Do you 
know anything about it?” 

“That’s another matter,” said Frank. 

“We know it’s another matter,” shouted 
several, “and we’ve got a right to know. It 
concerns the bunch.” 

“The bunch doesn’t make wrong right,” 
fairly yelled Frank. “The bunch doesn’t 
make a mean thing honorable. Yes, I know 
about it, and that’s why I can’t go. I can’t 
say more because I have said all I can say, 
in honor.” 

“Honor!” hissed one of the boys, “it’s 
queer honor that will distress Father Boone 
and queer a whole crowd.” 

By this time the racket had grown into a 
half riot. The voices were loud and raucous. 
Their echoes reached Father Boone above. 
He closed his door as he did not want to 
hear what was not intended for his ears. But 
he had caught enough to let him know that 
there was a deepening mystery about the 
affair, and that most of the boys were not a 
party to it. 

Things were gradually shaping for a fight. 

[i6 9 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


It was clear that Frank had taken a firm 
stand. It was equally clear that the crowd 
was not satisfied or in sympathy with it. 

Some of the larger boys did not relish his 
excusing himself on the ground of honor. 
Fred Gibney bawled out, “You’re prating a lot 
about honor, Mulvy. What about the Club’s 
honor?” 

“Look here, Gibney,” snapped Frank, “I 
have the Club’s honor as much at heart as 
any of you, and you know it. But just now — ” 
his voice quivered, “I know how you regard 
the matter. I suppose I’d feel the same if I 
were in your place. All I can say is that I 
know what I know in confidence, and I’m in 
honor bound. Will that satisfy you? I have 
said more than I intended to, but it’s because 
I want to go the limit to satisfy the crowd on 
my stand.” 

“That sounds like a book speech,” retorted 
Gibney, “and it’s all very well for you to hide 
behind honor. Any of us could get out of a 
bad hole that way.” 

“That means that you think I am lying?” 
questioned Frank, his eyes fairly aglow. 

“It means what you want to make of it,” 
snapped Gibney. 


[ Wo] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

Frank jumped from his place to get at 
Gibney. Dick got in between the two, but 
found it more than he could do to restrain 
Frank. As blows were on the point of being 
exchanged, steps were heard on the stairs, 
and the boys signalled that Father Boone 
was on the way down. At his approach, the 
boys assumed a more or less quiet posture. 
Not so Frank. He stood just where he was and 
as he was. His fists were clenched, his whole 
frame was trembling with excitement, and his 
face was determined and pale. 

Father Boone took in the situation at a 
glance. He appeared, however, not to see the 
impending fight. Beckoning to Ned, he said, 
“I want you and four or five boys to help me 
unpack something upstairs.” He knew that 
this interruption would give all a breathing 
spell, and stop further animosity. Then like 
a flash, it occurred to him to settle the whole 
thing then and there. 

“Boys,” said he, “your shouts and some of 
your talk have reached me upstairs. I am 
very much hurt over this affair, and I know, 
from what has happened, that most of you 
feel as I do. I caught some of the words be- 
tween Gibney and Mulvy. They reveal a lot 
[ I 7 1 1 


A BOY KNIGHT 


to me. First of all, apparently, what has hap- 
pened was not the work of the crowd, but of 
a few only and you are as much mystified as 
I am. I am glad to know that the Club as a 
whole is not implicated. But a bad report has 
gone through the parish in regard to that 
occurrence, and I am bound, in duty to the 
parish and in devotion to you, to clear up 
the matter. 

“And so I say now to you all, what I have 
already said by that notice, I ask the boys who 
perpetrated that rowdyism or who know any- 
thing about it, to stand out and declare them- 
selves !” 

Not a boy moved. After a moment’s 
silence, Frank came forward and stood before 
the priest. “Well, Frank, have you anything 
to say?” 

“Only what I said to you upstairs, Father.” 

“Do you still feel in conscience that you 
can say no more ?” 

“Yes, Father.” 

“Very well,” replied the priest. After a 
pause he continued, “I do not want any boy 
to act dishonorably. But there are certain 
cases where justice is concerned, where the 
rights of many are in conflict with those of a 

[ 172] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

few, where scandal is involved, where the 
instrument for doing substantial good is in 
danger of being destroyed; under such cir- 
cumstances it is not only not dishonorable to 
speak out, but it is highly honorable to do so. 
I know a boy’s code of honor, and how he 
regards a ‘squealer.’ But it is not squealing 
to denounce a criminal. And in this case 
nothing short of a crime has been committed. 
Wilful damage has been done to property, 
and consequent damage has been done to 
reputation. If you saw a boy break into your 
home, and destroy valuable things, you would 
not consider it squealing to denounce him to 
the authorities. That very thing has occurred 
here. And you are in duty bound to stop sin 
or crime if it is in your power to do so. 

“If you know those who are guilty in this 
matter, it is your duty to see to it that they 
declare themselves, in order that the good 
name of the Club may not suffer further, and 
that the damage done to property may be 
made good. 

“With this explanation, I again ask those 
concerned to declare themselves.” Not a boy 
moved. 

“Frank Mulvy, after what I have said, do 

[ 173] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


you still find you are not justified in speaking 
out?” 

“I do, Father.” 

“I respect your conscience, Frank, but I am 
hard put to find a justification for it. If you 
were a lawyer or a doctor or a priest, and had 
got your information in your capacity of 
adviser, I could see your point of view. But 
you are a boy of fourteen, and hardly of the 
age that invites confidence. If I did not know 
you as well as I do, I should consider you a 
party to the affair. As it is, you seem to be 
the only boy who knows anything about the 
matter, or — the only one who has the courage 
to say so.” 

Here Dick spoke up. “ Father, the whole 
thing has us puzzled. We do not know yet just 
what you refer to. You speak of damage and 
rowdyism. We have not seen any. It was only 
by report that we heard about it and we’ve 
got into lots of trouble denying and resenting 
it. Until your notice was put up today, we 
treated the entire matter as a calumny. The 
only row we know of was that scrap between 
Frank and Bill Daly. That was nothing. 
Frank himself went up to tell you about that. 
We were all at sea when we saw you so indig- 
[ 174 ] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

nant. We formed a committee to wait on you. 
As things are it looks bad for Frank. But we 
all know him and I — I — want to go on record 
now as standing by him, if he says he can’t 
tell, in honor.” 

Frank seized his hand. “Dick, you’re true 
blue.” 

“That’s all right, Richard,” said Father 
Boone slowly, and then, taking Frank by the 
hand, he added, “Frank, I trust you absolutely.” 

“Then I am ready for anything, Father.” 

Gibney now came up rather sheepishly, 
saying “Mulvy, I hope you’ll pardon me.” 

“Nothing to pardon, old man, you did what 
any fellow would do,” answered Frank. Then 
he swung around to the crowd quickly. “Fel- 
lows, I feel I’m ‘in bad.’ Everything is against 
me as things go ordinarily. You have nothing 
but my word for my defence. I hardly deserve 
such trust. But I hope you won’t regret it.” 

“Frank, take that notice off the bulletin 
board and put it on my desk upstairs.” As 
Frank left the room, Father Boone turned to 
the crowd. 

“Boys, a good character is the best thing 
in life. Frank Mulvy’s character alone stands 
between him and your condemnation. If 

[ 175] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


this matter has no other issue than the pres- 
ent, it is worth while. I could talk on up- 
rightness a month, and it would not impress 
you as much as what has happened before us.” 

At this point Frank returned and Tommy 
spoke up: “Will you tell us, Father, what it is 
that you are so much worked up over? We 
don’t know what has happened, you know, 
about breakage and wanton destruction.” 

“I hope,” said the priest, “that every boy 
here is as you are, Tommy, wholly ignorant 
of the matter. That only adds to the mystery, 
for you may as well expect a man to walk 
without legs as to have a lot of things broken 
and smashed without arms. Whose were the 
arms, if not yours of the Club, Fd like to 
know ? I shall describe to you what oc- 
curred, and leave the mystery to you.” 

Then in a few words he told them how he 
had come to the Club a few mornings ago, 
and found it all upset, chairs broken, tables 
overturned, pictures torn down, ink spilled 
on the floor, and the rest of it. As the narra- 
tion went on, the eyes of the boys got as big as 
saucers. If looks and gestures were signifi- 
cant, they told of surprise, disgust, condemna- 
tion. As he finished, Dick spoke: 

[176] 


THE FIELD OF HONOR 

“Father, that solves one mystery. We could 
not understand why you withdrew the McCor- 
mack treat, and took on so dreadfully. We 
know, now, and I for one want to beg your 
pardon for any feeling I had against you.” 

“Me, too!”, “Me, too!”, came from differ- 
ent parts of the room. 

“That is one cloud rolled away, boys,” said 
the priest. “May it be an augury that the 
others and bigger ones will vanish also. We 
are like travelers in the desert who often see 
things where they do not exist. Weary and 
exhausted caravans frequently have visions 
of trees and springs which lure them on, only 
to see them vanish in thin air. Scientists call 
it a mirage . Life, too, has its mirages.” 

“How strange,” said Frank to himself, as 
they were leaving the room, “ Bill and I used 
the same expression when we were talking 
together at the hospital.” 

The boys went home a pensive lot. But 
everyone of them was determined to solve 
the mystery. 


[ 177] 


Chapter V 
The Holy Grail 

By this time the whole parish knew about 
the affair at the Club. Like all reports, it 
increased in the telling until there was the 
general impression that the Club was a pack 
of rowdies. Many a father and mother won- 
dered why Father Boone tolerated such an 
organization. 

“I thought these boys were in good keep- 
ing,” said one mother to another. 

“Yes, and it’s worse than we know of,” 
replied the other, “for I tried to get at the 
facts from my Johnnie, but he was as close as 
a clam. Unless it was something dreadful, 
he wouldn’t mind telling his mother.” 

The fact was that the boys had reached an 
understanding not to talk about the affair 
at all. They were determined to clear the 
Club’s name and until they had something 
definite to offer, explanations, they decided, 
had best be omitted. So ‘mum’ was the word. 

[178] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

Mrs. Mulvy was returning from early Mass, 
that morning, when Mrs. Doyle, a woman she 
highly regarded, stopped her to say that it 
was too bad that Frank was mixed up in the 
row at the Club. Mrs. Mulvy only smiled 
and remarked that she thought there must be 
some mistake. But a little later in the day, 
Mrs. Duffy called on her and after a few 
conventional remarks, said “I really think it 
is too bad, Mrs. Mulvy, that those boys 
should be up to such mischief.” 

“Why, what do you refer to, Mrs. Duffy?” 

“I thought you knew all about it — that 
wholesale smash-up at the Club. Surely it 
was disgraceful. Furniture broken, the pic- 
tures and walls disfigured and the whole house 
ransacked. It’s a wonder some of them were 
not arrested.” 

This was news to Mrs. Mulvy. She had 
heard Father Boone call the doings at the 
Club serious, but she supposed that they were 
only serious in his eyes, because of the high 
standard he had set for the boys. Now she 
heard for the first time of wholesale damage, 
of wrecked rooms and furniture! “Are you 
sure of all this?” she inquired. 

Mrs. Duffy replied, “It must be so, for 
[ 179 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


everybody is talking about it.” Then she 
added, “ But my boy, George, won’t open his 
mouth about it. It must be bad if he is afraid 
to let me know. I am going to take him to the 
priest tonight and find out all about it, and if 
he had a hand in it — well, he’ll wish he hadn’t.” 

Mrs. Mulvy was too confused to speak. 
She had wondered why Father Boone was so 
stern when he addressed Frank as “sir.” 
Also she had wondered at Frank’s intense 
emotion on that occasion. “So it was really 
serious,” she reflected. “And gossip is getting 
Frank all mixed up with it!” 

Mrs. Duffy continued hesitatingly, “I 
thought I’d come over to see you first, Mrs. 
Mulvy, because they all say that Frank is the 
only one who owned up to knowing anything 
about it.” 

Mrs. Mulvy caught her breath. However, 
she answered, composedly enough, “'I should 
be sorry to know that my boy was really in 
such awful mischief, but if he was, I am 
proud that he owned up to it. It is boy-like 
to get into a scrape, but it is very noble to 
stand up and admit it.” 

“I feel that way myself, Mrs. Mulvy. If 
George was in it, he will have to own up to it, 

[ 180] 


TH E HOLY GRAIL 

but I am sorry that he did not do so of his 
own accord. George is a good boy, though, 
I never knew him to do anything that I was 
ashamed of before/’ said Mrs. Duffy wist- 
fully, as she took her leave. Mrs. Mulvy 
almost collapsed as she sank into a chair. 

For a few moments she was in a state of 
distraction. At length she sighed, “Poor 
Frank!” After a while, she arose and went 
to a little shrine of the Blessed Virgin which 
she called her oratory. Here it was that the 
whole family knelt every night to say the 
rosary together. Here it was that each one 
said morning prayers before leaving the house 
for the day’s occupations. She had conse- 
crated all her children to the Blessed Mother, 
and begged her powerful protection for them. 
The Mother of God had been a good Mother 
to her devoted children, and so far Mrs. 
Mulvy had realized that devotion to Christ’s 
Mother was one of the greatest safeguards of 
virtue. She knelt before the image of the 
Blessed Mother and prayed, “Mother of God, 
to whose care I have entrusted the little ones 
He has given me, be more than ever a Mother 
to my children now. Especially take under 
[ i8t ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

thy protection my good boy Frank. Holy 
Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners 
now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.” 

When she arose she had decided to make no 
inquiries of Father Boone, nor would she have 
any misgivings about her boy. She would 
trust him. 


(II) 

On his way to school the same morning, 
Frank was stopped a number of times and 
asked, “What was that scrape you got into, 
Mulvy?” At first, he laughed it off. But 
gradually it irritated him, as one after another 
referred to it. It was his custom to make a visit 
to the church every morning on his way to 
school. This morning he went straight to the 
altar of the Blessed Virgin and prayed fer- 
vently that in this trying situation he would 
do nothing displeasing to her or her Son. 
He also begged her that she would be a Mother 
to his mother and help her in this hour of 
trial. Arising from prayer he felt that he 
could submit to misunderstanding or even 
injustice, and do it patiently. 

On leaving the church he met Tommy and 
Dick also coming out. 

[ 182] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

“Gee!” exclaimed Dick, “you are in for it, 
Hank. Everybody says that you are the cause 
of the Club damage. The fellows are saying 
nothing, but one or two must have leaked, 
for it’s all over the parish that you admitted 
you were in it.” 

“Yes,” added Tommy, “I nearly got into a 
fight denying that you had a part in the 
matter.” 

“You two are true blue,” answered Frank. 
“Things do look bad for me. But in a day or 
two it’ll be all cleared up.” He was calculating 
on Bill Daly’s telling everything to Father 
Boone on his next visit to the hospital. 
Frank knew that the priest would see Bill 
every day or so until he got well, and that it 
was only a rush of work that had kept the 
director from going down again before this. 

When Frank got to school he noticed almost 
at once that Mr. Collins seemed somewhat 
disturbed. He barely bade Frank good morn- 
ing. When a teacher prides himself on the 
fact that his class bears the highest reputa- 
tion in the school for deportment and appli- 
cation, of course he feels it keenly if one of 
his best boys is the subject of criticism and 
veiled accusations. On the way to school, 

[183] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

Mr. Collins had got many inquiries about 
Mulvy’s character. ‘He was glad to say that 
Frank was the finest boy in his class/ But by 
the time he reached the class room, he showed 
his disturbed feelings in his greeting to Frank. 
The boy really cared greatly for his teacher, 
and was hurt to think that he should lose 
his good opinion even for a short while. 

However, class went on as usual until about 
ten o’clock, when the principal of the school 
entered the class room. He listened to the 
recitations for a short while and spoke ap- 
provingly of the good work being done. Then 
he turned to Mr. Collins and said, “Have you 
any of Father Boone’s boys in your class?” 

“I believe I have. Will the boys who belong 
to Father Boone’s Club please stand.” 

Four stood up. 

“That will do,” said the principal. “Be 
seated. I should like you four boys to report 
at the office at noon.” 

At recess, the four got together and con- 
jectured what was up. “0, it’s clear,” said 
Frank. “He wants to find out if any of the 
High School boys are implicated.” 

“What do you suppose he’ll do?” remarked 
Redmond. 


[ 184] 


THE HOLY GRAIL] 

“Why, he’ll quiz us, of course. He may 
have heard exaggerated reports of the thing.” 

“I don’t see that it is any of his business,” 
observed Cavanaugh. 

“Well, you know,” responded Frank, “that 
the Regal is mighty touchy about its reputa- 
tion and he does not want any mud slung at 
it if he can help it.” 

At noon the four went together to the office. 
The principal met them and began at once. 

“ Boys, it’s really not my affair, but I can’t 
help being concerned. You know our school 
puts a value not only on learning, but on 
character. I should say, mainly on character. 
I hate to hear of any of our boys being mixed 
up in an ungentlemanly affair. I have called 
you in order to get the truth of the matter. 
There are bad rumors afloat. I don’t trust 
them. Mulvy, may I ask you to state just 
what occurred?” 

“I’d rather you’d ask Redmond, Father, 
if you please.” 

“It’s all the same. I asked you, Mulvy, 
because they tell me you are secretary of the 
Club, and Mr. Collins informs me you are the 
leader of his class.” 

“Thank you, Father, but I have personal 

[185] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


reasons for declining to speak of the affair. ” 

“Very well, my boy, I don’t wish to em- 
barrass you. Tell me, Redmond, just what 
happened.” 

Redmond narrated everything. 

“That sounds very serious,” declared the 
principal. “Father Boone is a good friend 
of mine, and very devoted to you boys. He 
undoubtedly feels this thing more than you 
can imagine.” 

“We know that, and really, that’s what 
hurts us most,” said Frank. 

“Now, young men, I am going to ask you 
a question. You are not obliged to answer it 
unless you wish. It is outside my domain. 
Did any of you have a hand in that affair?” 

The four answered together, “No.” 

“Good, I knew it. Now I can state that 
the High School boys were not in the mischief 
at all. Now another question. Do you know 
who did it?” 

Three answered, “No.” 

The principal noticed Frank’s silence, and 
turning to the boys, he dismissed them, at 
the same time asking Frank to stay a moment. 

“My boy,” he began, “you indicate that 
you have some knowledge of this affair. You 
[186] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

also show that you’re concerned about Father 
Boone’s feelings in the matter. I wish you to 
know that he is terribly cut up over this thing. 
You are, or were, an official of the Club. If, 
without actual dishonor, you can give him any 
clue to the perpetrators, you should do it, 
for it concerns justice and charity.” 

“I have considered that, Father, and I am 
persuaded that I must not say what I know.” 

“Well,” said the principal, “I’ll take your 
word for that. I know you better than you 
think. If you feel that way, I would not insist 
a particle. But bear in mind, young man, the 
only thing that stands between you and con- 
demnation is yourself. With those who know 
you that is sufficient. With others, you may 
have to suffer for the stand you are taking.” 

“I’m suffering now, and expect to suffer 
more. But I know I’m right, and that’s the 
main thing.” 

“I am proud of you, Mulvy,” said the prin- 
cipal, as he dismissed him. 

Outside the school it was rumored that 
Frank had been ordered to the principal’s 
office and had been threatened with suspen- 
sion. Color was given this report by the fact 
that he came out from the school alone and 

[187] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

much later than the rest, looking decidedly 
uncomfortable. IThe words of assurance given 
him by the principal had affected him deeply. 

Of course the report was that he had got a 
dreadful laying out from the principal. There 
were not a few boys of the school who were 
glad to hear of Frank’s downfall. He had 
been so much respected by teachers, and so 
well liked by his companions, that there were 
bound to be some fellows rather envious of him. 

As he passed the first corner of the street, 
he encountered a group of some eight or ten 
boys standing around. One of the largest 
boys, John Morris, remarked, for Frank’s 
benefit, ”1 say, fellows, lots of statues are 
toppling these days.” For a moment Frank’s 
blood boiled, and he was on the point of re- 
senting the slur, when he recollected that 
after all, appearances were against him and he 
must take the consequences of his attitude. 
So he came up smiling. Most of the boys were 
of the class a year ahead of him, but Frank 
had always been welcomed in the older groups. 

When Morris perceived, or fancied, that his 
shot had missed the mark, he said calmly, 
“I see you got a ‘call-down,’ Mulvy.” 

“Yes,” said Frank, “and a hard one, too.” 

[188] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

At this, most of the fellows sympathized 
with him. Boys have, for the most part, a 
sense of justice. They desire to see fair play 
— they know when to let up. When he reached 
home, he went straight to his mother. 

“Mother,” he said, “you won’t listen to 
any of the stories and things they are saying, 
will you ? I could speak of it — of that whole 
Club matter, you know, to the priest, in con- 
fession, mother, but to no one else and in no 
other way. If some one had told you, mother, 
in the most sacred confidence, something 
about his most secret doings, and if it was 
something which you never could know other- 
wise, would you feel justified in revealing it?” 

“Certainly not, Frank.” 

“Well, that is my position, mother. For 
the present my mouth is locked, but in due 
time everything~will be set right.” 

“Yes, yes, my boy. Mother knows you will 
do what is right. Duty costs dear, but one 
must pay the price. After all, if it were easy 
to do right, there wouldn’t be much credit 
in it. It is the hard things that count.” 

“I am glad, mother, that we both look at it 
in the same way.” 

Her answer was a kiss. 

[ 189] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


(III) 

On his way to the Club that evening, Frank 
met Dick. 

“Did you hear the news, Hank?” he said. 
“Bill Daly is dying. He has typhoid.” 

“Who told you, Dick?” 

“Tom Gaffney. Fie was down to the rectory 
before supper and Father Boone had just 
come back from the hospital. Fie told him that 
Bill was delirious three days. He also said 
that he had given him the last rites, and that 
there was slim chance for his recovery.” 

Frank and Dick accelerated their pace. 
They were both anxious to hear more about 
the matter. At the Club, they met Father 
Boone going out. 

“Boys, say a little prayer for William Daly. 
I think he is near the end.” 

“Was he prepared?” asked Frank, a lump 
in his throat. 

“ Everything except confession,” replied the 
priest. “You see, he is delirious. I have been 
down to see him twice a day the last two 
days, but he has not regained consciousness. 
I am going down now in hopes I may find 
him able to go to confession. If not, we must 
leave him to God and the Blessed Mother.” 

[ 190] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

Saying that, he started off to the hospital. 

Frank turned white as a sheet. 

“ What’s the matter, Hank?” said Dick. 
He could not answer. “Why, what’s up, 
Frank?” 

“O, nothing, Dick, I’m all right now.” 

Like a flash it had occurred to Frank. 
“ What if Daly should die without saying any- 
thing about the Club affair!” No wonder his 
heart beat like a hammer! No wonder Dick 
showed alarm. 

“I’ve been intending to go down and see 
Daly,” said Frank, “but it has been one thing 
after another these past two days. Besides, 
I left him all right. Yes, I hope he comes out 
of it.” 

When the two friends entered the Club 
they found the crowd pretty serious. The 
exploit which had landed Daly in the hospital 
had endeared him to the fellows, and they 
now felt genuinely sorry for him. They began 
to recall their mean treatment of him on the 
very night of the fire. They asked one another 
what it was he had wanted to say, when they 
gave him no chance to open his mouth. 
Everything occurred to them except the one 
thing, the damage at the Club. Somehow 
[ l 9 l 1 


A BOY KNIGHT 


that never seemed to connect itself with Daly. 

As they sat around more or less in silence, 
Frank said, “Tomorrow is the First Friday; 
what do you say, fellows, if we go to Com- 
munion for Bill ?” Every boy assented. 

When, about an hour later, Father Boone 
returned, he was very serious. 

“Boys,” he said, “Daly is in a critical con- 
dition. The doctors hold out little hope. 
Tomorrow I shall say Mass for him. I hope 
you boys will also remember him in your 
prayers.” 

“We are all going to Communion for him 
tomorrow, Father,” said Ned. 

“0, that’s good,” answered the priest. 
“That’s very good of you. God knows what is 
best. His holy Will be done, but we shall pray 
that if it is God’s Will, he may be spared.” 

“Was he conscious?” anxiously asked 
Frank. 

“No,” answered the priest, “I have been 
watching him carefully the past two days, 
but so far he has not got out of his delirium.” 
Frank had a return, suddenly, of that faint 
feeling. True, the Club damage was in the 
background now, in the presence of death, 
but it was only deferred, not settled. And 

[ 192] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

what would happen if the secret died with 
Daly? 

Frank was extremely conscientious. He 
was not counting on what he could lawfully 
do in case Daly should die. He was deter- 
mined that if worse came to worst he would 
bear the brunt of the disgrace himself rather 
than say a word that would blacken the name 
of one who had passed away. He must not 
flinch. He must be a real Knight of the Cross. 

Frank left the Club much earlier than usual 
and alone. Something seemed to draw him to 
the hospital. At any rate, after five minutes, 
he found himself on the avenue going down 
to where Bill Daly lay in delirium. He got 
permission at the office to visit him. When he 
reached the patient, he found Mr. and Mrs. 
Daly there. Mrs. Daly welcomed him and 
introduced him to Mr. Daly as “that nice 
boy I told you about.” 

“And you are Willie’s friend ?” said Mr. Daly. 

“Yes, I am glad to say.” 

“O, he was the good boy,” continued Bill’s 
father. “ He should have had a better chance !” 

Frank said nothing. 

Then the mother began, “Willie was all I 
had to live for these many years, and now that 

[ 193 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


his father’s himself again, maybe God will 
take away my boy. Oh, but it’s a cruel world 
and hard to understand! But God knows 
best.” 

“We are all going to Communion for him 
tomorrow,” said Frank, sympathetically. 
“When Father Boone told us that William 
was dangerously ill, all the boys of the Club 
agreed to go to Holy Communion for him. 
You know tomorrow’s the First Friday.” 

“O, thank you, you are such good boys,” 
she sighed. 

Frank did not know whether to stay or go. 
Bill lay there unconscious, muttering from 
time to time. His father and mother sat by 
the bed on either side. Frank was standing. 
They were in a private room. Bill had been 
moved from the ward after a visit from Mr. 
Roberts. Every comfort that good nursing 
and attention could give was supplied. An 
automobile, moreover, took Bill’s parents to 
and from the hospital. Mr. Roberts had told 
Mrs. Daly that as soon as her boy got well 
he would put him to school and see him 
through to any profession he chose, and that 
he would place Mr. Daly in a good position. 

Mrs. Daly told all this to Frank as he stood 

[ 194] 


TH E HOLY GRAIL 

looking down into the patient’s fevered face. 
“But now I suppose it’s all over with Willie,” 
she groaned, “ God’s ways are not our ways. 
His holy will be done! I told Mr. Roberts 
about you, and how good you were to Willie 
and me. He said he wants to see you. He will 
be down soon, so you must wait till he comes.” 

“I shall be glad to,” replied Frank. 

Bill was tossing about a good deal and now 
he began a string of incoherent words. His 
father and mother bent over him to see if they 
could help him in any way. But he was only 
rambling. After a little while, he began to 
speak again. “Dad, you’ll never drink again, 
will you? Dad, you’ll be good to Ma, won’t 
you?” Frank was about to retire when Mrs. 
Daly beckoned to him to remain. 

“ Don’t mind what he says, dear,” she whis- 
pered. “He talks that way all day.” Then she 
added, the tears filling her eyes, “and what 
he says is so often the truth. But sometimes 
he talks awful nonsense. Just before you came, 
he was telling us about smashing tables and 
furniture at the Club, poor boy!” 

‘And what he says is so often the truth,” 
repeated Frank mentally. 

Again Bill began to talk. “ O, he has ‘sand.’ ” 

[ 195] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“I wonder what that means ?” asked Mrs. 
Daly. 

Frank shrugged his shoulders. 

“ But, he’s good, too,” continued Bill. 
“That’s why he has ‘sand.’ What a cur I was 
to put him in bad.” Then, after a pause, 
“Mulvy, never again for me! Straight goods 
for mine. No more yellow for Bill Daly.” 

His parents looked at one another. It was 
all Greek to them. But it had much meaning 
for Frank. Mr. Daly sat there in deep thought. 
He was thinking of his early days, his happy 
home, his fond child. And then came the 
years after. The broken home, the broken 
hearts and here now, his dying boy. 

“God is punishing me,” he thought to him- 
self. “But I wish He would not punish the 
mother for my sins. O God, spare my boy!” 

This last he said out loud. Frank and Mrs. 
Daly turned suddenly toward him. His voice 
was choked as he said, “O God, punish me 
but spare those I love!” Frank’s eyes filled 
as he gazed on the broken man before him. 

Again Bill’s voice was heard. “Mother, I 
want Frank. Send for Frank. I want Frank 
and Father Boone. Dad, we’ll never quarrel 
again. Home will be nice for us all. Mother, 
[196] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

mother, mother !” And he lapsed into un- 
consciousness again. 

Frank felt terribly out of place. Twice while 
Bill was talking, he had started to go, but 
Mrs. Daly held him. He seemed to be neces- 
sary to her now. He was her boy’s friend and 
she wanted him by her. Frank perceived this 
and he made up his mind to wait as long as 
he could. After about an hour Father Boone 
came in. 

“I was down near here on a sick call, and I 
thought Fd just drop in for a moment,” he 
said. “O, you here, Frank? Well now, that’s 
nice, I declare.” And he sat down. 

The doctor was making his final rounds for 
the evening, and entered just as the priest 
was seated. He saluted all, gave a special 
nod to Father Boone, and then, after excusing 
his interruption, went over to the patient. 
All were quiet as he made his examination. 
When he finished, the mother stood up and 
looking him direct in the eyes, said, “ Doctor, 
is my boy going to die?” 

“We never know, Madam. We can’t tell. 
We do all we can, and hope for the best. 
That is what you must do too. But he is 
very ill.” 

[ 197] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


From the tone it was said in, the mother 
gathered that there was little hope. That was 
Father Boone’s impression also. Mr. Daly 
seemed to be in a trance. His mind was else- 
where. But his taut face showed that he was 
thinking regrettable things. 

When the doctor left, Father Boone took 
Mrs. Daly by the hand and said, “My dear 
child, you must be brave. These are the mo- 
ments when our blessed Faith means every- 
thing to us. God’s will is the greatest thing 
in the world. That is why our Lord, in teach- 
ing us to pray, said: ‘Thy will be done/ 
He taught us that because it was necessary* 
He taught it by example as well as by precept. 
In Gethsemani He prayed, ‘Not my will but 
Thine be done.’ He, the Son of God, had His 
sorrows too. Resignation to God’s will does 
not mean that we must not feel or suffer, but 
that in spite of our feelings, we rise up in 
Faith and see God as our Father. We must 
realize that He loves us, and we must say to 
Him, ‘Thy will be done.’ His will may cause 
pain now, but it is the pain that profits to life 
everlasting, and the pain that makes us like 
unto Him and dear to Him. Let us all kneel 
down, all of us, and say the ‘Our Father.’ ” 

[ 198] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

Slowly, solemnly, he prayed. “Our Father 
. . . who art in heaven, . . . hallowed be 
Thy name; . . . Thy kingdom come; . . . 
Thy . . . will ... be .. . done . . 
. . on earth as it is in heaven. . . . Give 
us this day our daily bread. And forgive us 
our trespasses, ... as we forgive those 
who trespass against us. . . . And lead 

us not into temptation; . . . but deliver us 
from evil. . . . Amen/’ 

There was a pause — a long pause. Frank 
thought it was a new prayer. He had never 
realized all that it meant. It seemed the best 
sermon he had ever heard. He felt now that 
he could bow his head to anything that God 
asked of him and say “Thy will be done.” 
The priest arose, and the others with him. 

The mother’s face was changed. There was 
the peace of God on her countenance. In 
the presence of her dying son, she had the 
exaltation of Mary at the foot of the Cross. 
Mr. Daly stood stunned. In a few minutes he 
too showed a calm face. Father Boone was 
the first to break the silence. 

“If God wants your boy, Mrs. Daly, let 
Him have him. If you asked Willie for some- 
thing you would want him to give it to you. 

[ 199] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


If it was hard for him to give, you would know 
he loved you when he gave it. If God asks you 
for Willie, show Him you love Him. And now 
good-bye. 

“It is late, Frank. You had better come 
along with me,” he added, looking toward 
him. They made their parting as consoling as 
possible and left. 

Later, as they struck the Avenue, and were 
going along in silence, Father Boone began to 
speak — half to himself, half to Frank. “I 
suppose you wondered that I talked to them 
as though Bill’s death were a certainty? Well, 
from my experience, I think it is. If I were 
sure of being present when he dies, I would 
not have anticipated. But suppose he goes 
off tonight, and no one is there but themselves ! 
They have something now to sustain them. 

“Our Faith is a wonderful thing. People out- 
side know nothing of the comfort and strength 
it brings in affliction. There may be some 
excuses for a fellow when he is young, and 
healthy, and well-off, to say he has no use for 
religion. But the whole world isn’t young, 
nor in health, nor rich. Most people have ills 
of one kind or another. Some are poor, some 
in ill-health, some old, or misunderstood. 

[ 200 ] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

So our Lord chose poverty and suffering. He 
did not want better treatment than His fol- 
lowers were to have. 

“ When anything hard happens to me, I try 
to bear it cheerfully, and tell myself I should 
be ashamed to have better treatment than My 
Lord. And I’ve had some pretty tough things. 
I don’t show it, but your hair would stand 
straight up if I were to tell you some of the 
things I’ve gone through. And do you know, 
when I have something terribly hard to 
endure, I take a positive pleasure in kneeling 
before the altar and saying to God: ‘This 
costs me a lot, Lord, but I am glad it does, for 
I have something worth while to offer Thee’.” 
He heaved a deep sigh. 

“Frank, excuse me for talking about my- 
self. Just thinking aloud. You see, that 
afflicted mother and father bring out serious 
reflections.” 

By now they had reached the rectory. 
“Good bye, Frank,” said the priest. 

“Good bye, Father,” answered Frank, 
grasping the priest’s hand very firmly. 

As Frank went on his way, he said to him- 
self, “Gee, now I know where he gets his 
power. When he prays, he prays. No wonder 
[201 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


he does so much good, and so quietly. No 
one knows anything about it unless by acci- 
dent.” 


(IV) 

At the hospital, Daly was sinking fast. 
The doctor came in frequently. And then, as 
often happens shortly before death, the de- 
lirium terminated for awhile. Bill looked up 
and saw his father and mother standing over 
him. It took him some seconds to realize 
where he was. It all came back to him in a 
rush. He also felt very weak. He had never 
felt like this before. Something told him he 
was going to die. 

In a low voice he said to his father, “ Pop, 
I guess I am wanted up there. I’m sorry for 
all I’ve done. I know you’ll be good to ma.” 
A pause. “Ma, it’s hard to go and leave you, 
but Dad will take care of you like he used to, 
when I was a kid. That’ll make up.” Another 
pause. “ Pa, ma, make the Act of Contrition 
with me.” They knelt at his side, made the 
sign of the cross, and he said, falteringly but 
clearly: 

“0 my God! I am heartily sorry for 
having offended Thee, and I detest all 
[ 202 ] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

my sins, because I dread the loss of 
heaven and the pains of hell, but most of 
all because they offend Thee, my God, 
who art all-good and deserving of all my 
love. I firmly resolve, with the help of 
Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do 
penance, and to amend my life. Amen.” 

He fell back exhausted, from his slightly 
raised position. 

In a little while he said, “Ma, I want Father 
Boone and Frank/’ The mother knew that 
the priest was rushed day and night, and hesi- 
tated to call him. Then she remembered that 
Father Boone had said, “If he returns to 
consciousness, be sure and send for me.” 

While she was thinking how best to do so, 
Mr. Roberts entered the room. He took in 
the situation at a glance. “Is there anything 
I can do for you?” he asked. On learning of 
Bill’s request, he said, “My machine is here. 
I’ll run up for Father Boone and the boy, 
and have them here in no time,” and off he 
went. 

Mother and father held either hand of their 
darling. Not a word was uttered. In about ten 
minutes, the door opened and Father Boone 
and Frank appeared. Bill recognized the 
[203] 


A B O Y KNIGHT 


priest, and said with an effort, “I am so 

glad to see you Father. I want to 

go to confession. Then Til go home.” Mr. 
Roberts, who was not a Catholic, found tears 
running down his cheeks. Mr. Daly was 
sobbing. 

“I shall have to ask you all to leave the 
room for a few minutes,” said the priest, and 
as they filed out, he put on his sacred stole, 
and blessed the boy. Then bending over him, 
he heard Bill’s confession. 

Bill told him everything. He wanted to go 
into details, but the priest, to whom a single 
word meant volumes, quieted him and allowed 
him to say only what was absolutely neces- 
sary. When his confession was made, the 
priest took out a crucifix and pointing to it, 
said, “He came for us, for us who offended 
Him. He is more glad to forgive you than you 
are to receive forgiveness. Make your act of 
contrition, and I shall pronounce God’s abso- 
lution. Speak from your heart as to Christ 
on the Cross. He sees your repentance. He 
will heal you and make you His dear child.” 

As the dying lad was saying his words of 
sorrow for sin, the priest was pronouncing 
absolution. “May Almighty God have mercy 
[204] 


TH E HOLY GRAIL 

on you and forgive you your sins and bring 
you to life everlasting, Amen. May the 
Almighty and Merciful Lord grant you par- 
don, absolution and remission of all your sins. 
Amen. May Our Lord Jesus Christ absolve 
you, and I, by His Authority, do absolve you 
from every stain of sin. I absolve you from 
your sins in the name of the Father, and of 
the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. May 
the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the 
merits of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of all 
the Saints, whatever good you have done and 
whatever suffering you have borne, make for 
the forgiveness of your sins, for an increase 
of grace, and for the reward of life eternal. 
Amen.” 

Father Boone arose, opened the door and 
bade all come in. “All please kneel down,” 
he said, “I am going to give William, Holy 
Viaticum.” They all knelt, including Mr. 
Roberts. Before the priest administered the 
sacred rite, he turned to the boy and said, 
“My child, I am bringing to you Our Lord 
Himself, to be your friend and companion. 
Speak your heart to Him.” Then administer- 
ing the Blessed Sacrament, he said, 

“Receive, my child, the Holy Viaticum, the 
[205] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


Body of Our Lord Jesus Christ. May He 
guard you against the evil one and conduct 
you to life everlasting. Amen.” 

The boy received the Sacred Host with in- 
tense reverence and joy. He crossed his 
arms in prayer. After a short while, he turned 
to his mother and said, “God wants me, 
mother.” 

She responded, “The Lord giveth, the Lord 
taketh away; blessed be the name of the 
Lord.” 

The father came over to his son, and taking 
his hand kissed it, saying with a voice of 
suppressed emotion, “Good-bye, Willie, pray 
for your poor old Dad.” 

“Good-bye, Dad. A kiss.” 

His eyes caught Frank kneeling beside the 
bed and he faintly smiled at him. 

Then, to his mother, “Good-bye, Ma.” 

She kissed his forehead tenderly. He looked 
up a moment, and closed his eyes. Father 
Boone and Frank were just saying, “Holy 
Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, 
now, and at the hour of our death,” when the 
mother gave a gasp and said, “My Willie is 
dead!” 


[206] 



‘"DECEIVE, my child, the Holy Viaticum, 
^ the Body of our Lord.” 




THE HOLY GRAIL 

(V) 

On the way home an hour later, Frank and 
the priest walked for a while in silence. Each 
had his own thoughts. In an indefinable way, 
the priest showed a marked respect for the 
boy. He understood all now, “A truly noble 
boy,” he kept saying to himself. But Frank 
occupied only a part of his thoughts. The 
mysterious ways of God’s Providence fur- 
nished him food for reflection. “ A soul saved, 
a life lost,” he said to himself, as he considered 
the reform of Mr. Daly and the death]of Bill. 

Frank, too, had his thoughts. His tired 
head was full of all he had seen and heard 
of Bill’s life and family. Bill was a “victim 
of circumstances.’’ “What if my father had 
been like his?” he asked himself. “I have 
never thanked God enough for my good father 
and mother.” Then he was glad both for 
Bill’s sake and for his own that Bill had gone 
to confession. In his own relief at knowing 
that the strain of misunderstanding was 
ended for both himself and Father Boone, 
he expected the priest momentarily, to refer 
to the subject. When they had gone a dis- 
tance in silence, Frank burst out — the first 
words between them since leaving the hospital. 

[207] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Father, you know all about it now!” 

“All about what, Frank?’’ 

“Why, didn’t he tell you . . . about the 
. . here he stopped. The priest gave 
him a look that startled him. “O, I beg your 
pardon, Father, I forgot it was confessional.” 

From that moment the subject never came 
up again. But Frank knew in his heart that 
he was cleared. It would not matter now, no 
matter what happened. The subject never 
came up again, but in a thousand ways, from 
that night on, Frank realized that Father 
Boone was his dearest and best friend. 

Switching the conversation, Father Boone 
said, “Our prayers for Daly tomorrow will 
be for his welfare beyond, not here.” 

“It will be a great shock to the fellows. 
Father,” said Frank. 

“Yes, doubtless. Death always is. And the 
death of a boy especially.” 

“Why, Father?” 

“Well, I suppose because we don’t expect 
the young to die. It seems out of place. But 
God calls at all hours. After all, it’s only a 
question of a few years, more or less. We all 
go sooner or later. The great thing is not 
the going, but the manner of it — to live in such 
[ 208 ] 


THE HOLY GRAIL 

a way that whenever God calls, we are ready. 
Then, it’s all one, — for compared with eternity, 
the longest life is but a fraction of a second. 
Not even that.” 

They soon reached the rectory. “Good- 
bye, Frank, my good boy Frank,” and the 
priest gave him a hand shake that almost 
made him yell. 

“Good-bye, Father.” 

And when in later years Frank recalled that 
night, he marvelled that one small boy could 
have been both so sad and so happy. 


[209] 


Chapter VI 
The Cost of Honor 

The next morning at about ten, Father 
Boone was in his office at the Club, waiting 
for Mr. Roberts, who had phoned him asking 
for an appointment. 

“This has been a crowded week,” said the 
priest to himself. “On Monday morning I 
found the Club rooms a wreck. Since then, 
we have had a fire, Bill Daly’s adventure and 
death, all the worry over the mystery and, 
thank God, its solution. 

“All cleared up now. And out of it comes 
Frank Mulvy, pure gold. He had a hard 
ordeal, poor boy. I was certainly severe on 
him. But under the same circumstances, yes, 
Fd do the same again. What a mirage life is! 
We see or fancy we see, so many things that 
are not there.” 

Presently, Mr. Roberts was shown in, and 
after the usual greeting, he said, “I know you 
[210] 


THE COST OF HONOR 

are busy, Father, and so I won’t take up 
much of your time. You know I had intended 
putting William Daly through school, but 
that’s off now.” 

“ Yes,” interrupted Father Boone,' “ he knows 
more now than all the colleges could impart.” 

“Say, Father Boone, do you know it’s 
taken my breath away — the way you people 
look at things. You talk and feel about the 
other world as we do about this! Why, last 
night, everybody seemed to be right next door 
to God.” 

“That’s our Faith,” replied the priest. 
“It’s our greatest treasure, the best thing we 
have in life. That is, for those of us who live 
up to it.” 

“It must be so, Father. I couldn’t help but 
notice how happy that boy looked after the 
Sacraments. But, I came on another matter 
today. William Daly is dead. What I was 
going to do for him I want to do for some 
other whom you will designate. Preferably, 
that young lad who was with you last night. 
But I leave it to you.” 

“God will bless you for that. But Frank 
Mulvy comes of a well-to-do family. He is 
one of the finest lads that God ever made. 

[211 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

He intends going to college after finishing at 
our high school. I have another boy, however, 
very deserving and very poor. If you will 
consent, I should like to designate him. His 
name is Edward Morgan.” 

“ Edward Morgan it shall be,” replied Mr. 
Roberts. 

“Now, another thing, Father. I have told 
Mrs. Daly to have as nice a funeral as possible 
for her boy. That’s not an act of kindness, 
but of justice. He saved my wife and child. 
I shudder when I think what life would be 
without them. All my money would be noth- 
ing, with them gone. Of course I shall take 
good care of Mr. Daly,” he added. 

“I am sure you are doing the part of a good 
and grateful man,” said Father Boone. 

“And another little thing, Father. We are 
close on to Christmas. I want to do something 
for you personally, for yourself, Mo you under- 
stand?” 

“I thank you very much,” said the priest, 
“but, really, I prefer to have you help some 
one else.” 

“No, it must be you, Father. I am set. I 
want to do something to please you, per- 
sonally.” 


[212] 


THE COST OF HONOR 

“O, you do ! Well now, I’ll tell you how you 
may do that. I have any number of poor 
people in the parish. Some need clothing, 
some food, some rent. Suppose you help me 
to help them?” 

‘Til go the limit, Father, I have the money. 
You send me word how much you need, and 
you will have it.” 

“Not so fast, my good man. I only want you 
to help to a certain extent. You know we have 
many poor. I could easily ask you for a large 
sum and not half supply our needs. Just how 
much do you wish to give?” 

“How much do you want?” 

“Well, I have at least thirty poor families 
on my list.” 

“Suppose, then,” said Mr. Roberts, “that 
we make it a hundred dollars to each family. 
How would that suit?” 

Father Boone felt like calling for help. 
Three thousand dollars ! It almost toppled him 
over. “Suit!” he exclaimed, “why, it will be 
royal! Rather, let me say, it will be very 
Christian, Christlike.” 

“It’s done,” said Mr. Roberts. 

“I thank you,” said Father Boone earnestly. 

“I thank you ,” replied the millionaire. 

[213] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


Then he continued: “I see you are doing a lot 
here for the boys. That is the best work I 
know of. If you turn out others like Frank 
and William, you ought to be blessed and 
thanked. I know your heart is with your 
boys. Can’t I do something for the Club?” 

They talked over the situation for some 
time, with the result that the Club was to 
get a new piano, new up-to-date billiard 
tables, a bowling alley, and six sets of boxing 
gloves. All these were to be delivered Christ- 
mas week. 

As Mr. Roberts was leaving, the priest 
said, “It’s my turn now to do something for 
you. I am going to ask you to do a little favor 
for yourself. I want you to kneel down every 
night before going to bed and say a prayer. 
It’s not a long one, just this: ‘O God, grant 
me the grace to see the light, and the courage 
to follow it.’ ” 

“Why, that’s easy,” said Mr. Roberts. “I 
thought you were going to ask me something 
big.” 

“Well, for all you know, that may turn out 
to be the biggest thing you have ever done,” 
replied Father Boone, as they clasped hands 
on parting. 


[214] 


THE COST OF HONOR 

Father Boone’s thoughts just now had 
turned to the McCormack concert. After 
the disturbance, he had sent the tickets to a 
priest down town, who had a boys’ club in a 
poor section of the city. “ But I don’t know as 
it’s too bad,” he thought. “ Those boys down 
there never get much of anything. I’ll find 
some way to make it up. The boys won’t 
suffer for my mistake, that’s certain.” 

He phoned down to Carnegie Hall. 

“Sold out,” was the answer. 

“I thought so,” he reflected, not at all disap- 
pointed. 

That afternoon while down town on busi- 
ness, he turned over 57th Street to Seventh 
Avenue and dropped into Carnegie Hall to 
see what other date McCormack was booked 
for. While he was making his inquiries, a man 
standing nearby approached him. 

“Pardon, Father, you’re from St. Leonard’s ? 
I am Mr. McCormack’s manager; perhaps I 
can help you out.” When he heard that 
ninety seats were wanted, he almost collapsed, 
“But your boys are little chaps, aren’t they, 
Father, from nine to fifteen? Lads of that 
age don’t take up much room. How would 
you like to have them seated on the stage?” 

[215] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Why, that’s capital,” exclaimed Father 
Boone. 

“Well, I can manage that. We’ll give them 
the first row on either side. That will put 
them right close to McCormack while he’s 
singing. I know how kids like to be near to 
what’s going on.” 

So it was all arranged, and Father Boone 
returned home very happy. He had received 
that very morning a letter from one of the 
parishioners who always gave him something 
for the Club at Christmas. This time it was 
a check for 3150.00. The tickets cost him 
390.00. “With the rest,” he mused, “I shall 
be able to give them a good time.” 

(II) 

That evening the boys were rather sub- 
dued. Bill Daly’s death had affected them 
greatly. To be playing with a lad on Monday, 
and to know he is dead on Friday, is a terrible 
shock to boys. 

As Father Boone entered the Club he ob- 
served how serious they were. It was natural, 
he reflected, and best to let it work itself out. 
He would not mention the McCormack treat 
just now. 

[2X6] 


THE COST OF HONOR 

The boys gathered around him, and asked 
all sorts of questions about Bill’s last mo- 
ments. Even to these lads it meant something 
consoling that he had died a beautiful 
Catholic death. They told Father Boone that 
they had gone to Mass in a body that morn- 
ing, and had received Holy Communion for 
Bill’s soul. 

“I offered up the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass 
for William this morning,” said the priest, 
“and I suggest that on the day of the funeral 
you all go to Communion again in a body 
for the repose of his soul.” 

“We had already decided on that, Father,” 
said Dick. 

“That is good,” remarked the priest, “and 
now another thing. You know his mother is 
terribly broken up by her boy’s death. That 
is natural. She would not be a mother other- 
wise. Of course, she is resigned to God’s will. 
So was Our Blessed Mother, at the foot of the 
Cross, but that did not prevent her heart 
from being pierced with grief. Mrs. Daly was 
very brave under it all. So much so that Mr. 
Roberts, who was there, said to me after- 
wards, “Your religion is a wonderful thing in 
affliction.” But, boys, she feels the separation 
[217] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


keenly. William was a remarkably good boy 
to his mother. Now that he is dead, I can 
say to you that the poor boy had an awful 
lot to contend with, and if it were not for his 
religion and his mother, no one can say how 
he might have turned out. 

“Now I suggest, boys, that you divide up, 
and some of you go over to the house at one 
time, and some at another, on a visit of con- 
dolence. M 

“Yes, Father,” said Tommy. “We were 
thinking about going over.” 

“What’s the best thing to say to her. 
Father, if we want to show our sympathy?” 
asked Dick. 

“Nothing,” replied the priest. “Words are 
useless in deep sorrow. Just go there quietly. 
Your mere presence will say more than any 
words, if your behavior is considerate.” 

“Shouldn’t we say anything at all?” asked 
Ned. 

“Just a word or two to say who you are, 
and that you are sorry for her. Your presence 
is what will talk most.” 

It was after ten o’clock that evening when 
Father Boone reached the Daly flat. He had 
been stopped several times on his way over, 
[218] 


THE COST OF HONOR 

by inquiries about the Club, and Daly. On 
entering he found six of the Club boys kneeling 
around the body saying the rosary. The lads 
had held a meeting after Father Boone had 
left them, and decided to go in groups of six, 
each group to stay a half hour. They also 
decided that the best way they could show 
their sympathy for the parents, and to aid 
Bill, was to say the beads. 

In order not to disturb them, Father Boone 
went quietly into the rear room. Some one 
told Mrs. Daly that the priest was come, and 
she went to him at once. As soon as she saw 
Father Boone, she broke down. The priest 
had expected it. He had seen less devoted 
mothers become hysterical under such cir- 
cumstance. He simply said nothing. He let 
her have her cry out. When it was over, he 
remarked, “ That’s good now; that cry will 
do you good.” He spoke kindly, but very 
firmly. He knew that one little exhibition 
of his own feelings would start her all over 
again. 

When she was composed, she said, “O, 
but Father, what lovely boys you have at the 
Club! Sure, they came in here in droves all 
the evening, and every one of them knelt 

[219] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


down and said the rosary for Willie. It did my 
heart good. Forgive me, Father, for the cry 
I had. They gave me so much comfort, I 
thought I was altogether resigned to God’s 
blessed will. But the sight of you, Father, 
brought the tears.” 

“Well, I am not surprised at that, my good 
woman. Did not our Lord have tears of blood 
in Gethsemani? Yet He was resigned. The 
end of His prayer was, ‘Not my will, but 
Thine be done/ If we did not feel these things 
keenly, there would be little merit in being 
resigned to God’s will.” 

“God bless you, Father, for saying that. I 
was afraid I was rebellious.” 

“Not at all. You were only human, only a 
mother.” 

Again she started to cry, and the priest sat 
silent. 

After a moment he said, “And now, Mrs. 
Daly, remember that by offering up your 
sorrow to God for Willie, it becomes something 
precious in the sight of heaven, and will 
benefit his soul.” 

“Thank you, Father, I’ll do like you say. 
But Father, you should see himself. I never 
thought he would take it so hard.” 

[ 220 ] 


THE COST OF HONOR 

l"' Where is he?” 

["Inside.” 

i“Tell him to come here.” 

In a moment Mr. Daly came in. There were 
no signs of tears on his face, just a drawn, sad 
expression. His eyes were sunken and dull. 
He began first. 

“O Father, it’s the hand of God on me and 
I deserve it. If the home was what it should 
be, it never would have come to this.” 

“ Well, Michael, if it’s the hand of God, and 
it is, it is for your good. The hand of God will 
never lead you away from your true welfare.” 

“But it’s the Missus I’m thinking about. 
Father. It will kill her. I can stand it. But 
she can’t. Oh, if the good God had taken me 
instead!” He sighed heavily. “Of course, 
I feel Willie’s going, too, almost as much as 
the mother, for I had just found him again. 
All these years he was lost to me, and mine 
the fault, the crime I should say, and it is 
God that is punishing me.” 

“I believe it, Michael. And He is punish- 
ing you here rather than hereafter. But His 
chastisements are different from men’s. He 
draws good from His punishments. This will 
make a man of you, and you will save your 
[221 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


soul. It brings God and His judgments before 
you. It shows you that we never know when 
He may call us, and that we should all be 
ready. Suppose He had called you suddenly 
two weeks ago, where would you be now?” 

Michael said not a word. He just bowed his 
head. 

Father Boone continued, “Be a man, 
Michael. Take your sorrow as chastisement 
from God. You deserve it, as you know. You 
did not appreciate the child God gave you, 
and He took him. Live now as a good man 
and husband. Don’t worry over the Missus. 
Her faith will take care of her.” 

While he was speaking, Mrs. Daly came in. 
Turning to her, he said, “Mrs. Daly, I feel 
sorry for you and Michael, but I do not feel 
sorry for the boy. Willie is now with God. 
He died the way Christ wants His followers 
to die. He is with God now. He would not 
exchange places with the most fortunate per- 
son in this world. He would not come back 
again if he could. God grant that you and I 
may finish our journey to eternity as accepta- 
bly as he has done!” 

“Blessed be the holy will of God,” re- 
sponded the mother. 

[ 222 ] 


THE COST OF HONOR 

“Amen,” said Michael. 

“Now I am proud of you,” declared the 
priest. “Your sorrow is great, but like true 
followers of Christ you carry your cross after 
Him. That is why He had His way of the 
Cross, so that when we have ours, we shall not 
be alone. Come into the front room and let 
us say a prayer for Willie’s soul.” 

As they entered, the friends sitting around 
stood up. The six lads saying the beads con- 
tinued their prayers, but on seeing Father 
Boone, they terminated the rosary at the 
decade they were saying. 

When all was silence, the priest spoke out, 
“My dear people, let us all say the ‘Our 
Father’ for the repose of William’s soul. 
When we come to ‘Thy Will be done,’ we shall 
pause for a moment, and dwell particularly 
on those words. All please kneel.” 

He began: “In the name of the Father and 
of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen. 
Our Father.. ..who art in heaven. ...hallowed be 
Thy name. ...Thy kingdom come. ...THY.... 
WILL.. ..BE DONE.. ..on earth.. ..as it is in 
heaven. Give us this day our daily bread.... 
and forgive us our trespasses... .as we forgive 
those.. ..who trespass against us... .and lead us 
[223] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


not into temptation. ...but deliver us from 
evil. ...Amen. May Willie’s soul, and the souls 
of all the faithful departed, through the 
mercy of God rest in peace. Amen.” 

He rose from his knees and quickly and 
quietly left the room. The boys soon followed, 
for it was late. One by one the others left, 
and the father and mother were alone with 
their dead. They sat silent for a long time. 
Then Mrs. Daly touched her husband’s arm 
and said, “ Michael, let us kneel down and 
say the ‘Our Father/ the way Father Boone 
did.” 


r 224 ] 


Chapter VII 
Knighted 

The day after the funeral of Bill Daly, 
Frank was on his way down to school when 
he met Dick and Ned. 

“I say, Frank,” began Dick, “ don’t you 
think you better do something about that 
Club row?” 

“There’s nothing to be done, as far as I 
can see, Dick.” 

“That’s because you’re not hearing what 
we hear. But it won’t be long before you get 
it, too. It’s just got to us, because they know 
we’re friends of yours.” 

“Well, in the name of Sam Hill, what is it 
you hear?” asked Frank. 

“Want it straight?” asked Ned. “The 
word’s round that the Club is going to be 
disbanded, and that you’re the cause of it. 
I almost got into a fight with the first guy that 
told me.” 


[ 225 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Yes,” added Dick, “and they say that the 
best fellows are getting out on account of 
you.” 

“Where did you get that?” asked Frank. 

“Some one saw three or four of the fellows’ 
mothers coming from the rectory the last few 
days, and one of them asked Joe Rooney if his 
mother was going to let him stay in the Club. 
You know Joe’s father keeps a store on 42nd 
Street and is somebody. Well, Joe is true blue 
even if he is a dude, and he said, ‘Why 
shouldn’t I stay in the Club?’ She said, ‘Oh, 
I thought all the decent boys had left. I 
can’t have my boy ever put his foot in that 
place again, with that pack of rowdies.’ ” 

This was news for Frank, but to their sur- 
prise he showed little concern. 

“Don’t you see, Hank,” said Dick, “that 
you are getting in bad. If a lot of mud is 
thrown, some will stick. It’s easy to give a 
fellow a bad name, but it’s hard to get rid of 
it. Why don’t you do something? I am sure 
Father Boone also will get a lot of annoyance 
from it, unless you clear yourself.” 

But Frank did not seem to mind. It was so 
unlike him that Ned said, “If we didn’t know 
[226] 


KNIGHTED 


you so well, Frank, we’d think you were 
mixed up in it ourselves.” 

“Yes,” declared Dick, “to one on the out- 
side it looks bad for you. That Dunn kid 
told everybody that you were over to see his 
father and then someone else blabbed what 
happened in the Club, that you owned up to 
knowing all about it. Putting two and two 
together, they have built up an ugly story, 
and it’s spread like fire.” 

That’s all right, fellows,” replied Frank 
nonchalantly, as they parted at the school. 
But just the same Frank was doing a lot of 
thinking. “Suppose the decent fellows should 
leave the Club ! Suppose it got a rowdy name ! 

“But,” he went on, “Father Boone knows 
how things are, and he’ll straighten them out. 
But can he? What he knows, he does not 
know, for all intents and purposes. He can’t 
use what he got in confession, and that’s all 
he got. He may know that I am right. That 
settles something. But how about my mother, 
and the others?” 

These reflections came to Frank as he was 
going upstairs to his class room. It was a 
relief to know that his teacher had some con- 
fidence in him. Some of the boys gave him sly 
[227] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

looks and one or two made insinuations. At 
recess, however, he met his real ordeal. First 
one, then two, and at length a dozen or more 
had gathered around him. 

“Well, fellows, you are getting a good show, 
I hope,” laughed Frank, with a forced grin. 
As they kept on staring he added, in a tone 
trying to be pleasant, “Movies free today.” 

Outside the circle someone called, “What’s 
up over there?” 

The reply cut him through and through. 
“That’s the goody-good kid that got caught 
in the roughneck stuff over at the Club.” 

If a thrust were made designedly in order 
to inflict exquisite pain, it could not have 
served the purpose better. Frank moved off 
with hot iron in his very flesh. He knew that 
the last word in contempt among boys was 
that same “goody-good.” It implied every- 
thing that he detested. With the boys it 
meant a girlish goodness, a sort of “softy.” 
That hurt him. Of course, in a school where 
there were nearly a thousand boys, he was 
known only to his own set. He was not think- 
ing of them, but of the great crowd who knew 
him but slightly, and who would credit what 
they heard. And out over the whole yard had 
[228] 


KNIGHTED 


rung those words, “goody-good!” And on 
the top of that, to be called a “ roughneck !” 

In class the next hour, the recess and its 
every incident occupied Frank’s whole mind. 
Every word and look was rehearsed over and 
over again. He was called on for recitation, 
but his name had to be repeated before he 
responded. When he did reply, he appeared 
like one just out of a trance. The hour of 
class seemed very long. 

At noon, he delayed going out in order not to 
face the crowd. When he thought that most 
of the boys had gone, he went out into the 
street. His face was burning. He fancied 
everyone he met was looking at him. He 
could almost hear passersby say “goody- 
good” and “roughneck.” 

If Frank had been “just any boy,” the 
experience of the recess hour would not have 
caused him such exquisite anguish. But a boy 
of high honor resents with all his soul the 
insinuation that he appears one thing, while 
in reality he is another. “But why,” he re- 
flected, almost aloud, “why should I carry a 
load that is not mine? I did not ask Daly’s 
confidence. Why should I suffer for it?” He 
knew the answer, at once. Honor demanded 
[229] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

it, and honor’s price at times comes high. 
That is what makes its value. But the thing 
kept coming back. It would not let him alone. 
When apparently settled, it came again in a 
new form. 

“Daly is gone,” he reflected. “He hasn’t 
got to face a crowd and bear their jeers and 
insults. I kept this secret as long as it could 
possibly hurt him any. Now, what’s the harm 
in clearing myself?” 

This thought clung to him like a wet gar- 
ment. It looked right, but his fine sense of 
honor detected the wrong that lurked in it. 

“Yes,” he said, “Daly is gone, but his 
father and mother are here. What a blow it 
would be to them!” 

But back again came the temptation, were 
his own father and mother not to be con- 
sidered also? Did he not owe more to them 
than to Bill Daly’s parents ? And so he went 
on, balancing duty with duty. Y es, it certainly 
was right for him to clear himself. This con- 
clusion, however, did not satisfy him either. 

“Two things are against it,” he mused. 
“First, any crook can accuse the silent dead. 
I am free of guilt, but I must not establish 
my innocence by making the dead guilty. 
[ 230] 


KNIGHTED 


Moreover, who would believe me? They’d all 
say that a fellow mean enough to wreck a 
club room, would be mean enough to lie. It 
wouldn’t do me any good to speak out. 

“And then — Bill Daly’s death made a pro- 
found impression on everybody. Father 
Boone’s sermon at the funeral was as good as 
a mission. All that would be undone if I let 
out on Daly. I can live this thing down, he 
can’t. Should I, even because of the pain of 
this thing to myself and my father and mother, 
break up all that ? No. Not even if I was sure 
it would help my case. I know I am right 
with God. That counts most. If I am doing 
something for Him, I must do it right. No 
whining, nor complaining, nor getting amazed 
that I am ill-treated. All that goes with the 
sacrifice.” 

He entered the church and went to the altar 
of the Sacred Heart. “O my God, for the 
love of Thee, I do this. I offer Thee a bleeding 
heart. It costs me much, but I am glad to 
give Thee what does cost so much. And, my 
dear Lord, grant me the grace to give cheer- 
fully what I give. Amen.” 

He arose and went out, strong and buoyant, 
like the martyrs who went to the lions re- 

[231 ] 


A B OY KNIGHT 


joicing. “A soldier fights for the flag/’ he 
thought, “and does so with enthusiasm, al- 
though he may meet with wounds, capture 
and death. I must fight under the standard of 
the Cross, and be a brave soldier of Christ, 
a Knight of the Cross.” 

There was no school that afternoon and so 
he took his time getting home. On his way, 
he was met by Mrs. Joyce, mother of one of 
the Club members. 

“Aren’t you that Mulvy boy?” she asked. 

“Yes, Mrs. Joyce,” he replied. 

“I thought so,” she continued. “Well, 
you’ve been found out at last.” 

That was all. It was a terrible lot for 
Frank’s sensitive soul, but he said in his heart, 
“For Thee, Jesus,” and went bravely on. At 
home, a new trial was awaiting him. His 
mother had been stopped on the street several 
times this morning, and had received very 
pointed inquiries about her boy. The last 
woman who addressed her had virtually in- 
sulted her. 

“Well, Mrs. Mulvy, it’s too bad. Who 
would have thought that your boy, Frank, 
would turn out so bad!” 

Mrs. Mulvy had to make an effort to smile 
[232] 


KNIGHTED 


and not reply. But when she got home, she 
found that she had bit her lips even to blood. 

When Frank came in, doubly dear to her 
now, she almost lost control of herself. She 
sank with a groan into the large arm chair. 
Frank was at her side in a second, smothering 
her with kisses, and breathing out terms of 
endearment to her. In a moment, she was 
herself again. 

“ Excuse me, Frank,” she said, “I was all 
undone. But tell mother, dear, what in the 
world have you done?” 

Frank was brave for himself. But where his 
mother was concerned, it was different. He 
knew now that what he had promised at the 
altar was going to cost him much dearer even 
than he had calculated. He was strongly 
tempted to make an exception in his mother’s 
case, and to tell her all. But he remembered 
his promise at the altar and how Bill himself 
had said, “There’s no going back on a promise 
to Him.” 

“A soldier does not quit when he gets a 
blow, neither will I,” he reflected. “This blow 
is worse because it strikes me through my 
mother, but I will trust God, and do what I 
have promised Him. Moreover, if mother 

[233] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


could not trust me now, when I tell her I am 
blameless, would it do any good to tell her the 
dime-novel truth of the matter ?” 

Looking deep into her eyes, he said, 
“ Mother, you never knew me to deceive you. 
You must trust me now more than ever. But 
I will tell you more than I shall say to any 
other human being. Mother, there is a mis- 
take. Everything points to me, I know. Em 
under this cloud because I would not be untrue 
to a confidence. Eve just left the church, 
where I promised God to carry this cross for 
Him. I was thinking of you when I made that 
offering. Now, Mother, won’t you be good 
and not worry any more?” 

For an answer she embraced him, and tak- 
ing him by the hand, she led the way to the 
little oratory. They knelt down before the 
Sacred Heart, and still holding his hand in 
her’s, she said, “Dear Sacred Heart, I add 
my offering to my boy’s. Do thou keep him 
ever in Thy love and Thy Grace. Amen.” 

“It’s all right now, mother. The cross has 
lost its weight.” 

“Yes, dear,” she answered, “we won’t 
mind anything now. Ell tell your father that 

[234] 


KNIGHTED 


I know things are all right, so he won’t be 
embarrassed by any gossip he hears.” 

“ Mother, I’d rather you wouldn’t say any- 
thing to father. He has enough to worry him 
without our cares.” 

“ Yes, dear, things don’t always run smooth- 
ly with him, yet he spares us his worries. 
I’ll do as you say, unless something makes me 
see it’s best to tell him.” 

(II) 

After lunch, Frank went out to the football 
field. There was to be heavy practice that 
afternoon for the big game of the year. On 
his way, he met Dick and Ned, headed in the 
same direction. 

“O Frank,” exclaimed Ned, “you’re being 
terribly ‘roasted’ all over the parish. Some- 
how the thing is getting bigger and bigger, 
and you’re made out worse and worse.” 

“Can’t help people talking, son,” was 
Frank’s reply. 

“I know, Hank, but it’s something awful. 
Why don’t you do something?” 

“I’m open to suggestions, wise one. What 
do you advise me to do?” 

“Why, deny it!” 

[235] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“I have.” 

“Weft, tell them that you can prove you 
didn’t do it. Show ’em that you were not 
around there when it happened. ” 

“That’s just it. Who knows when it 
happened?” 

“Well, isn’t there anything you can do? 
It’s fierce to get the rep you’re getting.” 

“Search me, kid. I don’t know anything 
more that I can do.” 

As they approached the field, they found 
most of the players already on hand, in their 
uniforms. Subs were beginning to line up 
against the regulars, for the practice, but 
Frank noticed at a glance that John Derby, 
of the second team, was in a regular uniform. 

“Oho,” he thought, “that looks strange. 
And that uniform looks suspiciously like 
mine!” His heart sank. 

Of all things that Frank liked, football came 
first. In the last game, with Grayson High, 
his playing had certainly counted big in win- 
ning the game for Regal. He was the only 
boy from his year on the team but no one 
could run and dodge as fast. His grit helped, 
too, for he would fight on, no matter how 
rough he was handled. In the early fall, he 
[236] 


KNIGHTED 


had been carried off the field protesting, al- 
though he was terribly bruised. Considering 
all this, it seemed impossible that Derby had 
been promoted to his uniform on the eve of 
their biggest game. Tomorrow they were to 
play Stanley High for the Interscholastic 
championship. 

However, he hurried, with as much coolness 
as possible, to the dressing room. He found 
his locker empty. Standing nearby was the 
captain of the team, Robert Fitzpatrick. 

"What does this mean, Bob?” said Frank, 
quietly. 

"Didn’t they tell you, Mulvy?” 

"Tell me what?” 

"That you’re off.” 

"Why, no. This is the first notion I’ve had 
of it. I came out for practice.” 

"Well, I’d rather someone else told you, 
Mulvy. I just want to say we had a hot row 
over you. I stood up for you, but four of the 
players said they’d resign unless you were 
dropped. So I had to give in, or ‘bust’ the 
team.” 

"What’s the charge against me, Bob?” 

"Don’t you know?” 

"No, I don’t.” 

[23 7 r 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“Well, you ought to.” 

“I know the report that’s around,” said 
Frank, “but you fellows certainly don’t want 
to go on record for condemning a man before 
he’s heard?” 

“Why, they said you admitted it.” 

“That’s not so. I said I knew about it. I 
did not need to say that. I had my knowledge 
as a confidence, and I could have denied all 
knowledge of it. But because I had the spunk 
to speak out as I did, you fellows brand me. 
It’s all right. I’ll take my medicine.” 

“It wasn’t easy for us to drop you, Mulvy. 
Tomorrow is the big game, and we need our 
best team. I put that before them strong. 
But I was out-voted.” 

“Well, Bob, I want to thank you for what 
you did. But tell me one thing. You know 
how the fellows move heaven and earth to 
get a strong team. You know how, when a 
fellow got into a scrape, or was behind in 
studies, or even if he was bounced, all the 
others stood by him and fought to retain 
him. Now, I know I’m a boob, but neverthe- 
less, I know my worth to the team, and so do 
you. Tell me, then, why this action in my 
regard?” 


[ 238 ] 



T) ECAUSE I was brave enough to speak out, 
you brand me.” 





KNIGHTED 


“ Well, I’ll be frank with you, Mulvy. They 
look upon this matter differently. From all 
accounts, it was a thug affair, and it’s gotten 
all over the parish. The fellows won’t stand 
for it, not even if it hurts our chances for 
tomorrow’s game.” 

“Thank you, Bob, for being so frank. Now, 
another question. It’s my last, don’t be afraid 
to be candid. Do you think the same as the 
others?” For a moment there was no reply. 

“O, excuse me,” said Frank, “I did not 
mean to embarrass you. Please don’t answer.” 

Turning, he saw five or six of the team 
standing about. They had all heard the con- 
versation. Not one had come forward to 
befriend him. 

“It’s all right, fellows, I have no kick. I’m 
in bad. But I hope you’ll find out some day 
that I’m misrepresented.” 

So saying, he walked away, down-hearted, 
but full of exultation. He was paying a high 
price for that offering to the Sacred Heart. 
It hurt. But he was glad that he was doing 
something worth while for God. 

He left the field. He could not bear to stay 
and look on. He had not gone far when Dick 
and Ned overtook him. “Say, fellows, don’t 

[239] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


mind me,” he said to them. “Go back and 
take in the sport.” 

“Not without you,” said Dick. 

At the same time, Ned put his hand in his, 
but said nothing. 

Frank’s eyes filled. Here was trust. Here 
was devotion. They walked along for five 
minutes, not a word being spoken. Rather, 
many words were uttered, but they were the 
silent language of the heart. 

“I think I’ll see Father Boone,” Frank 
said eventually. “I want to get his advice on 
something. Good-bye fellows. I’ll never forget 
how true you were to me.” And he headed off 
in the direction of the Club, hoping to find 
the priest in his office there. 

(HI) 

Father Boone was in and he was very 
serious, as it was easy to see from his face and 
manner. For he had just heard how his boy, 
Frank, was being treated. 

“Of course,” he meditated, “my lips are 
sealed. All that I know is confessional. But 
I must think out some way of coming to 
Frank’s rescue. What a chivalrous lad he is! 
What a fine sense of honor! He’ll see it 
[240] 


KNIGHTED 


through, no matter what the cost. I trust that 
most of my boys would suffer anything rather 
than lie or do wrong. But this is heroic. It 
shows fine mettle. His religion is his strength. 

“But can I allow him to be a victim of 
injustice? Daly knew the secrecy of the con- 
fessional but, at the same time, I told him 
that I could not give him absolution unless he 
repaired the wrong he did, as far as lay in 
his power. The only thing in his power then, 
was to give me permission to use what he 
told me. I told him plainly that someone else 
was under suspicion of the deed. I pointed 
out that in case that one were in danger of 
incurring the guilt and punishment, it was a 
matter of justice on his part to assume the 
responsibility of the act. 

“Of course he gave me the authorization to 
declare that he and he alone was the author 
of the damage. He even begged me to do it, 
for his peace of soul and as penance for his 
sins. He showed he had the right disposition 
for absolution. But it’s not all right for me. 
He was too weak to sign a paper and if I 
were to use the knowledge I have, what 
would prevent people from saying that I was 
violating the sacred seal? My word alone 
[241 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


could be questioned by anyone. A slur on the 
confessional would result, and untold harm 
would be done. 

“But here I am discussing the matter, as 
though it were open to discussion. No, I was 
just ruminating. My lips are sealed forever.” 

Just then there was a rap at the door, and 
in came Frank. The priest arising said, “God 
bless you, Frank/ ’ They stood and looked at 
each other for a moment. Father Boone ex- 
tended his hand. J Frank clasped it. They 
understood. 

Then Frank unburdened himself to the 
priest. He told him all the snubs he got, and 
finally came to the football matter. 

“That got me. You see, Father, they are a 
square set of fellows. To take such action 
right before the big game means that they 
have me down bad. I don’t blame them. I told 
them I had no kick. But, gee whiz, it hurts!” 

“Of course it hurts, boy, but don’t you 
suppose it hurts when a soldier goes over the 
top and gets a bayonet in his breast ? Or when 
he gets gassed, or bombed? Perhaps you 
think it’s fun for an aviator to see his machine 
crippled four thousand feet above ground and 
to know he is dashing to death ? They do all 
[242] 


KNIGHTED 


that for flag, for country, for glory. We ought 
to do our bit for God and our country above.” 

“ Father, you’ve got a way of explaining 
everything. I think if I had you around, I 
could go through life as if it were a picnic.” 

“It’s not much of a picnic, son; and I could 
tell you some things worse than going over 
the top.” 

“For instance?” suggested Frank. 

“Well, wouldn’t you like to know now, 
Frankie boy? But you won’t. No, it is enough 
that God sees and knows. He who has Him 
for witness has enough.” 

“But what do you advise me to do about 
this football business, Father?” 

“There’s nothing to advise. All I can say 
is "watchful waiting.’ But I can tell you this. 
I have never yet known that a fellow who 
does what is right, loses out. He may appear 
for a time to have the worst of it, and he 
may suffer a lot, but if he does what is right 
to the end, he comes out on top. The trouble 
is that most people are willing to do right for 
a limited period, and then they give way. 
That always loses. If God is to be trusted, it 
is not for a day or a week, but always. I 
don’t mean to say that every good man has 

[243] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


been justified before men, but this I do say, 
that no good man has ever regretted his trust 
in God, nor the price he paid for it.” 

“I feel now that I can stand anything, 
Father.” 

“ That’s the way to talk. Just act the same 
way.” 

Frank went into the reading room and 
glanced over the magazines. He took down 
some books and looked "them over. The 
Club rooms were practically empty and his 
mind was not on his reading. It was the mat- 
ter of football practice and how the new player 
would do that chiefly recurred to him. After 
about an hour and a half, as it was getting 
dark, he put away his book and started for 
home. 

At Gody’s corner, there was usually a crowd 
of the Regal boys at this hour, and Frank 
hesitated whether he would pass along that 
way or go around the block. He had had 
enough troubles for one day, and did not court 
any more. To pass that crowd would mean 
trouble of some sort, he was afraid. But sud- 
denly he wheeled around. “Fll go the way I 
would in case nothing was up. If I once give 
in to this thing, it will be my finish.” 

[ 244] 


KNIGHTED 


He accordingly walked towards the crowd. 
As they saw him coming, he caught their looks 
and nods in his direction. When he got along- 
side of them, George Mooney, an upper class 
boy, said sneeringly, “Why weren’t you out 
to the practice, Mulvy?” 

Frank took all the wind out of his sails by 
answering, “I was out there, but they fired 
me. They had no room on the team for a 
thug, they told me.” 

“Some sand, kid,” said Fred Gaffney. 
“You don’t look like a fellow who’d do a 
dirty trick.” 

“He has already done it, there’s no question 
of what he would do,” retorted Mooney. 

“Come here, kid,” said Gaffney. “I’m 
going to believe just what you say. Did you 
have anything to do with that damage over 
there?” 

In a clear, straightforward manner, Frank 
said, “No.” And he looked Gaffney right in 
the eye. 

Gaffney, who was the biggest fellow in the 
crowd, turned to the others and said, “Fel- 
lows, I’m not looking for a fight, nor am I 
going to run away from one. I’m going to 
stand by this kid. Not that I think he needs 
[ 245 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


anyone to brace him up. He is well able to 
take care of himself. But I’m going to stand 
by him because I think fair play demands it. 
What’s got into you fellows. Doesn’t a chap’s 
record count for anything? Hasn’t Mulvy’s 
record always been good ? If a fellow is white 
all along, is he going to turn yellow over 
night? Put on your thinking caps.” 

Frank’s eyes were riveted on him, and they 
were moist. Gaffney saw it. “Put out your 
hand, kid. You’re good enough for me,” he 
said. 

“And for me.” “And for me,” others 
echoed, for Gaffney was a leader. 

“I thank you, fellows, and you particularly, 
Gaffney,” said Frank, as he moved along. 
His steps seemed lighter. Gaffney, a real 
leader as well as cheer leader for the games, 
believed in him. Perhaps the thing would 
blow over. Some others might put on their 
thinking caps also. He hoped so. 

When he got near his own street, he ran 
into Dick, who had just met some of the fel- 
lows who had been at the practice. 

“I say, Hank,” he began, “they had hot 
work up at the field. Bully practice. The new 
guy is going fine, they say.” 

[246] 


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“Were you up?” 

“No, but I got it from Fitzpatrick and Red- 
mond, who were there all the afternoon.” 

“I don’t see how he could jump in on such 
short notice, and fill the place. But if he does, 
so much the better.” 

“Will you be out at the game tomorrow?” 
asked Dick. 

“No, I don’t see how I could stand it,” 
replied Frank. 

(IV) 

It broke clear and bracing next morning. 
It was football weather made to order. Every- 
body was discussing the game. Stanley High 
and Regal had even scores for the season. 
They were tied for the championship, and 
this game was to decide it. In the morning, 
the boys got together at the school to rehearse 
their cheers and songs. Gaffney was cheer 
leader. By the time they had finished they 
were worked up to a high pitch of excitement. 

Louis Holten walked up to Gaffney at the 
close and said, “We’ve got ’em licked, surely, 
Gaff.” 

“Not so fast, boy. Stanley has something 
to say about that.” 

[247] 


A B OY KNIGHT 


“ Yep, Stanley’s record is first class all right, 
but you should have seen our bunch at it 
yesterday. Nothing can stop them!” 

“I hope so, Holten, but I’d feel better if 
Mulvy were on the job.” 

“Mulvy! Why the fellow that takes his 
place has him beaten a mile. Besides, the 
fellows wouldn’t play with that thug on the 
team.” 

“I wish there were more thugs like him, 
old man, that’s my ‘think.’ And besides it’s 
a big mistake to put a new man in at the last 
moment.” 

“Not if he’s as good as this new man.” 

“O, I saw him yesterday, and I tell you 
Louie, Mulvy entirely outclasses him. Derby 
is big and strong, but Mulvy has head and 
grit. And that’s what counts.” 

“Well, we’ll see, old chap; we’ll be there 
with the yells.” 

“So long, Louie!” 

“So long, Gaff!” 

The crowd began to arrive at the field at one 
o’clock. The game was scheduled for 2:30. 
It was to be in four periods of fifteen minutes 
each. There was to be an interval of one 
minute between the quarters and of twenty 
[248] 


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minutes between the halves. As many visitors 
were expected, some of whom would not know 
much about the teams or the game, the names 
of the teams and players were posted on a 
large board at one side of the field. Under 
the names were placed the scoring points, 
so that those unacquainted with the game 
would not have to show their ignorance. 


“Touchdown 6 points 

Goal from touchdown 1 point 

Goal from field 3 points 

Safety 2 points’’ 


The connoisseurs of the game explained to 
the uninitiated just what a “touchdown” 
was, and a “goal from the field.” It was 
harder to make clear what a “safety” meant. 
The general description seemed to be that it 
was when a player was caught with the ball 
behind his own goal. 

The crowd kept coming in faster and faster 
as the hour approached. By two o’clock every 
bit of desirable space was occupied. The field 
was marked off with new lines which shone 
clear and bright. Stanley was grouped on the 
right, Regal on the left, the side nearest the 
entrance. Automobiles fringed the outer 
crowd. All was expectancy. 

[249] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


Inside, the two teams were straining at tne 
leash. The coaches had difficulty holding their 
men quiet. 

“ Don’t waste your strength walking about 
and fretting/’ yelled Regal’s coach. “ You’ll 
need all you’ve got out there.” But the boys 
could not rest. They champed like horses at 
the post. 

The cheers from outside came sailing in. 
That only increased their nervousness. A 
few minutes before time to go out, they almost 
needed to be tied. Every boy was chewing 
gum, or biting his nails, or kicking something. 
Finally the coach signalled attention. 

“Now boys, go at them hard. This is no 
tea party. Scare them from the start. It’s 
grit that wins. No quitter, no quarter. You’re 
off.” 

With a yell, they bounded out of the dress- 
ing room and on to the field. They came out 
on a trot, looking steady and confident. They 
were greeted with “Regal, Regal! Rah, Rah, 
Regal,” from thousands of throats. “Give 
them another, ” yelled Gaffney. “ Regal, 
Regal ! Rah, Rah, Re — gal” soared across the 
field. 

An instant later, Stanley came out. They 
[250] 


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got their welcome, “Stanley, Rah! Stanley, 
Rah! Rah! Rah! Stanley!” 

The spectators were about equally divided. 
Both sides were on fire with enthusiasm. 
Those who knew the players pointed them 
out to those who did not. The strong and 
weak points of the respective teams were 
adverted to and discussed. 

Below, on the gridiron, the players were 
limbering up. Some tossed the ball around, 
others made short sprints, while a few kicked 
the pig-skin, not far but accurately. The 
warning whistle sounded. Off came the heavy 
sweaters. Both sides ranged up in battle forma- 
tion. The ball was propelled by a mighty kick 
far into Stanley’s territory, and the fight 
was on. 

The battle surged to and fro. Neither side 
showed any distinct superiority over the other. 
The ball was pushed now down to Stanley’s 
goal, now down to Regal’s. Either side, held 
for downs within the shadows of its own goal 
posts, invariably punted the ball back into 
hostile territory. Time and again an onward 
march was stopped by clever work and the 
ball changed hands. The game went on in 
this way for about ten minutes. 

[251 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


Suddenly from scrimmage, the ball was 
passed to Mulvy’s substitute for a run for- 
ward. The chance was good for a score. A 
little clever dodging here and there would 
mean a touchdown and six points for Regal. 
The spectators rose to their feet, they stood 
on tip toe, they craned their necks to see the 
first score. All of a sudden, when within 
fifteen feet of goal, the runner was tackled, 
toppled, and the ball rolled into Stanley’s 
possession. A groan came from Regal as 
Stanley picked up the ball, and carried it 
down the field, whence it was gradually 
worked over the line for a touchdown. They 
failed, however, to kick goal, and the score 
stood 6 to 0 in favor of Stanley. 

No time was lost in renewing the battle, and 
soon it was on as fiercely as before. The 
Regal’s coach was storming and stamping. 

“I told them not to drop Mulvy,” he 
bawled. “This is no dude’s game. That sub 
has got no grit. Look at him now! He’s got 
cold feet, he is only half playing. Here, 
Green, tighten up your belt. I’m going to 
put you in the next quarter.” 

The cheer leader was frantically appealing 
for encouragement from his yelling hordes. 

[252] 


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They gave cheer after cheer, louder and 
longer. The encouragement was telling. Again 
Regal pushed the ball up the field. Again, a 
fine opening presented itself and Derby got 
the ball, and a good open track to the enemy 
goal. Deafening cheers gave him wings. 
Again a hostile player crossed his path and 
brought him down like a bag of oats. A hiss 
resounded over the field. The coach could 
hardly wait for the quarter to be up. Gaffney 
ran over from his cheering place to the bench, 
and whispered to him. 

“I know it,” growled the coach, “I told the 
bunch after yesterday’s practice. He looked 
good to them, but I knew he wouldn’t do. 
We’re presenting the game to Stanley. It’s 
their’s without half trying. I’ll put Green in 
the next quarter.” 

“ Green is not your man either. There’s 
just one way to save this game, and that’s 
to get Mulvy.” 

“Is he here?” fairly yelled the coach. 

“No, but there are lots of machines. We 
could run up to his place in five minutes. He 
could dress in the car and be here for the next 
half.” 

“It’s no use, Gaff. He wouldn’t come. 

[253] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


Don’t talk to me. I know boys. After the deal 
he got yesterday, you couldn’t get him here for 
a million dollars.” 

“I guess you’re right, old man,” assented 
Gaffney. 

The first quarter was up with the ball close 
to Regal’s line. The whistle saved further 
scoring. During the minute’s rest it was clear 
that the Regal team were not dejected, but 
desperate. For a few seconds they simply 
looked at one another. The sub handicap 
was simply too much for them. They knew 
it was their own doing, and against the 
coach’s advice. 

“Here, Green, get in there now, and show 
the crowd that at least one fellow has grit.” 

The whistle sounded, the line-up was 
formed, and again the battle was on. They 
certainly played football. But they were up 
against a crowd who also played. The attack 
and defense continued as before. If Regal 
could not gain a point, neither could Stanley. 
On three or four occasions Regal might have 
scored, with Mulvy playing. They were 
afraid to risk anything with Green. They 
played safe. But that never wins. It may stop 
the enemy, but it will not bring victory. If the 

[254] 


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enemy could hold what it had, the game was 
lost to Regal. The coach saw this. He also 
saw the solution. 

“O, if I only had Mulvy,” he roared. He 
stormed and stamped and said a lot beside 
his prayers. Gaffney was working like a 
Trojan. But it was no use. The battle was 
see-saw. Now Regal, now Stanley. Neither 
could break through. Again Gaffney came up 
to the coach. He was exhausted from cheering 
and from swinging his arms. 

“I say, boss, it’s all over, unless we get 
Mulvy. ,, 

“ Don’t talk to me or Pll eat you,” snapped 
the coach. “What’s the use of saying Mulvy 
when we haven’t got Mulvy, and can’t get 
him.” 

“Will you put him in if I get him?” 

Just then a yell went up from the Stanley 
side. A long run brought the ball to within 
a few feet of Regal’s goal, and a score looked 
certain. The coach was a sight. The veins in 
his forehead stood out. His eyes were bulging. 
All of a sudden, the Stanley player dropped the 
ball, and the Regal captain seized it. That 
saved that situation. The coach relaxed, but 
still looked like a house on fire. 

[ 255 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

Again Gaffney said, “If I get Mulvy will 
you put him in?” 

“Ask me a foolish question, will you? Put 
him in ! I’ll shove him in, and poke him down 
the throats of that gang of quitters out 
there.” 

Gaffney went over to his crowd. “We’ve 
got to get Mulvy here, fellows,” he shouted, 
“Unless we do, it’s good night.” 

“Well, it’s good night, then,” remarked 
Tom Ruggeri, one of the upper class boys. 
Then he added, “You don’t suppose any one 
would jump into the game after the dose he 
got yesterday, do you?” 

“Not any one, but some one, and I believe 
Mulvy is just that some one,” retorted Gaff- 
ney. 

“Well, go ahead and get him then,” was 
the rejoinder. 

“You fellows don’t know that boy. You 
have him down as a thug. I’m going to show 
you you’re wrong.” 

He found Dick with Ned and Tommy. 
“Hey, Dick, you’re a friend of Mulvy’s. We 
want you to help us to get him here for the 
second half. Will you do it ?” 

“No, I will not,” answered Dick. “He has 
[256] 


KNIGHTED 


been humiliated enough already. To ask him 
now to play with a crowd that kicked him out 
yesterday is an insult/’ 

“So, you won’t come with me, kid?” 

“No.” 

Gaffney went back to his crowd. “It’s 
all up, I guess. Let’s work like blazes cheering, 
that may start something.” 

Regal had the ball, but was pushed back to 
its own goal. In a mix-up, a Regal player ran 
back of his own goal line, and was grabbed 
for a “safety,” which added two points to 
Stanley’s score. There was dejection among 
the Regal players and consternation among 
their supporters. 

Only three minutes of play remained before 
the end of the first half. The teams struggled 
doggedly. Regal was really playing splendidly, 
but the handicap of a sub player was too 
much. It seemed that Stanley just worked 
that one weak spot. That was good general- 
ship on their part, but very trying on Regal. 
With but one minute more of play, Stanley 
got the ball and ran with it to within seven 
yards of Regal’s goal. They lined up to push 
it through by sheer force. Regal made stout 
defense, and held the enemy wonderfully. 

[257] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


While the goal was still in imminent danger, 
the whistle blew, and the first half was over. 
Score, Stanley 8, Regal 0. 

(V) 

When Regal got to its quarters off the side 
line, the coach pitched into his men. “You 
bunch of babies, you ought to be playing 
croquet, not football! Where’s your ‘sand’? 
Haven’t you got any spine?” 

He was worked up to a terrible pitch. But 
it was all lost on the team. They were dazed. 
They had invited their friends to come out 
and see them win. And here they were pushed 
up and down the field, the score 8 to 0, and 
likely to be 28 to 0 before the end. 

The captain was the first to speak. “If I’d 
had my way, it would now be 8 to 0 in our 
favor. I told you not to drop Mulvy. I told 
you not to believe that charge against him. 
But you had your way, and now you see what 
it’s done.” 

“Do you suppose we could get him for the 
second half, Bob?” asked one of the team. 

“What, after what we did to him? No.” 

Here Gaffney stepped up. “I say, fellows, 
it was a dirty, mean trick the way you fellows 
[258] 


KNIGHTED 


turned on Mulvy. Bob is the only fellow that 
stood out for him.” 

“That’s right, Gaff.” 

“Now I tell you what Pm going to do. Pm 
going to show you that you’re wrong on 
Mulvy. Pm going to get him. Pll go for him 
myself.” He was off on the instant. 

“If Mulvy comes here after our treatment 
of him yesterday, Pll take my hat off to him,” 
declared Bob to his dejected team. 

“If he comes,” declared Bill Cronin, “Pll 
knock the head off the first fellow that ever 
dares hint again that he was in that thug 
affair.” 

That meant a good deal, for Cronin was the 
strongest man on the team. 

“I guess we made a mistake, boys,” said 
Joe Dalton. “As I look back now, I never 
knew Mulvy to be anything but straight.” 

“We believed that report too readily / 9 
observed Fred Donohue. “Pm mighty sorry 
for my part in it.” 

And so it went on. It stood out clearly now, 
that they had little or no ground for their 
action against Mulvy. But all felt that there 
was no question of his coming back. 

Out on the field, the Stanley contingent was 

[259] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


jubilant. Songs and cheers rocked the stands. 
The Regal supporters tried to look hopeful, 
but not with any great success. There were 
many inquiries about Mulvy. Some gave one 
reason, some another, for his absence. Those 
in the parish gave the Club story. But the 
High School drew students from all over town, 
and the parish affairs were not known outside. 
The Stanley players were asking where Mulvy 
was, for they knew him and his record. They 
thought he was on the crippled list. Their 
chief concern was joy over the score, and the 
prospect of final victory, and the Interscho* 
lastic Championship. 

Gaffney, meanwhile, had got a closed auto 
and had put into it a reserve uniform. It 
seemed the traffic cops took him for an ambu- 
lance — for he reached Frank’s in five minutes. 
He rushed upstairs, rang the bell, breathing 
hard as he waited for the door to open. 

Frank was with his mother and Father 
Boone within. The priest knew that Frank 
would feel it keenly that he was ostracized 
from the team, and being sure also that he 
would not go to the game, he had dropped in, 
casually, as it were, to see Mrs. Mulvy. 
Frank was really glad to see him. 

[260] 


KNIGHTED 


“Do you know, Father,” he said, after the 
casual remarks had all been made, “I’ve 
been building castles in the air. I was imagin- 
ing that the game was hard fought, and that 
our fellows were getting the worst of it. Then 
I fancied they wished they had me with them, 
and that they sent for me. I scorned them and 
had my revenge !” 

“That’s quite a romance, Frank,” said the 
priest. “But I guess the boys are winning. 
You know they said that that sub played 
splendidly yesterday.” 

“I hope they are winning, Father. I was 
just day-dreaming.” 

“But, Frank, suppose now that they did 
actually send for you, would you scorn them; 
would you refuse to go?” 

“Well, Father, except for one thing. In 
church this morning, I offered this injustice 
to God as a sacrifice. If I should act resent- 
fully, it would spoil the sacrifice.” 

“Now, y6u are talking as a Christian, as a 
Christian Knight. I’m proud of you. You 
see, in a case like this, you would not be 
obliged to go back to them. They ejected you. 
You are free to go back or not. But to go 
[261] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


back, not being obliged to, and to do so for 
the love of God, is virtue of a high order.” 

“You know, Father, Achilles went through 
something like this, and he scorned the plead- 
ing Greeks. But that was before Christ 
came.” 

“ Precisely. And look at the nuns and priests 
of France. Banished from their country by an 
infidel government. Yet, when their country 
was in need of them they came back from all 
quarters of the globe to suffer and, if need be, 
die for her. That is the effect of Christ in 
the world.” 

“Yes, Father, and do you remember how 
differently Coriolanus acted? When he was 
driven out of Rome, although he was naturally 
a very noble man, he led an army against his 
countrymen for revenge.” 

“Why, you are quite a historian and phil- 
osopher, Frank.” 

At this point, the door bell rang and it was 
followed at once by excited knocking. Frank 
ran to the door and Gaffney rushed into the 
room, all out of breath. Without stopping 
to see who was there, he poured out his words 
in such haste and with such excitement, that 
he seemed almost beside himself. 

[262] 


KNIGHTED 


“Mulvy, we're licked.. ..the game is lost.... 
almost lost. ...They want you.. ..They want 
you.... Mulvy, they want you!" 

Frank looked in amazement at Father 
Boone. The priest was a picture of astonish- 
ment. 

“I’ve got a machine outside.. ..the uniform 
in it. ...come along.. ..the second half...." 

Before he got any further, Frank looked 
understanding^ at Father Boone, jumped to 
his feet, and was down stairs like a shot. 
Into the machine he rushed, then into the 
uniform. The car fairly flew along the avenue. 
By the time he had his uniform on and his 
shoes tied, the car was at the field. Only two 
minutes remained before the second half. 

Bob saw Gaffney running towards the Regal 
squad, waving his hands, and shouting, "I've 
got him, I’ve got him." 

And behind Gaffney, all in playing gear, 
was Mulvy. Bob let out a yell that was 
heard all over the field. Before he had time to 
tell the cause of his excitement and jubilation, 
Gaffney and Mulvy were in the midst of the 
squad. 

The awkward situation lasted but a second. 

[263] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


“You’re a brick, Mulvy,” cried Bob, seizing 
his hand. 

The signal rang for the second half. The 
coach rushed upon him. The boys jumped to 
their feet and made for the field, full of new 
life and courage. Each managed to fling him 
a greeting that told better than words that 
they knew they had been wrong and that they 
were sorry for what they had done. 

“You’re all right, old man.” 

“You’re a whole crowd, Mulvy.” 

“You’re a brick!” 

Why the expression, “You’re a brick,” 
carries so much weight with boys, no one can 
analyze. But among any crowd of real boys, 
it is the limit of hero worship. 

Frank had nothing to say and no time to 
say it. His presence there, fresh and eager for 
the fight, showed that the incident was passed 
and forgotten. The coach patted him on the 
back, and whispered, “You’ve got to save the 
day, kid, you can do it.” And to them all it 
was, to compare little things with great, what 
the Yankees meant to Foch. 

The squad on the field looked a different 
aggregation. And it was different. The won- 
derful thing “spirit” had permeated them. 
[264] 


KNIGHTED 


It echoed in the rousing cheers which the 
Regal supporters gave them. 

“Great Guns!” gasped Dick, just as Gaffney 
in front of the stand shouted through the 
megaphone, “A Rah, Rah for Regal.” From 
thousands of throats came the inspiring, 
“Regal, Regal ! Rah, Rah, Re — gal !” 

“Now, fellows, a big Rah Rah for Mulvy !” 
Most of the spectators had supposed that 
Mulvy was crippled and that he was pressed 
into service as a last resort. Realizing that 
an injured gladiator who fights on is a hero, 
the response that came from the crowd was 
tremendous. 

“Mulvy, Mulvy, Rah, Rah, Mul . . .vy!” 

“Give him another,” yelled Gaffney. 

Again, louder and more intensely, rang out 
over the field, “Mulvy, Mulvy! Rah, Rah, 
Mul . . . vy!” 

The Stanley crowd shot back their yell, 
“Stanley, Rah! Stanley, Rah! Rah! Rah! 
Stan. ...ley!” 

The Stanley squad noticed Mulvy, but 
most of them thought he was crippled and 
would not last long. None guessed the real 
reason of his absence in the first half. 

Again the whistle blew, the teams took their 

[265] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

formation, and with a mighty kick by Stanley 
the ball was in play. For a few moments 
there was no apparent difference in Regal’s 
play. But soon it was noticed that they were 
going like a well-oiled machine. Stanley, too, 
seemed to be playing a better game. It was 
good football all around. They were well 
matched. It was to and fro again, but now 
there was no looseness on Regal’s side. Any 
gain that was made against them was due to 
good work by Stanley, not to poor play by 
Regal. 

Frank was playing well to the rear. All of 
a sudden Stanley got the ball, passed it to 
the fleetest runner, made an opening for him 
and gave him a clear field to Regal’s line. 
Only Mulvy stood between him and a touch- 
down. The runner was tall and fast, fifteen 
pounds heavier than Frank, a big margin 
where a boy is concerned. He came tearing 
down the field with the ball. Frank rushed 
right across his path, stood his ground with a 
tigerish gleam and posture, and when his 
man approached, tackled him low, sending 
him sprawling to earth, the ball rolling away 
to one side. The coach leaped into the air, 
gave the bench a bang with his hand that 
[266] 


KNIGHTED 


drew blood, and exclaimed between his teeth, 
“Grit.” 

The Regal crowd fairly went wild. Gaffney 
swung his arms like a wind mill, and worked 
his megaphone like a factory whistle, but it 
was all lost. Unmarshalled cheers shook the 
stand. Yells, shouts, slaps on the back, 
frenzy. It was RegaPs first chance to let loose. 
The nervous tension was at the breaking point. 
It needed just this play to act as a safety 
valve. When Gaffney at last could get a 
hearing, he yelled — “A Rah Rah for Mulvy.” 
With an enthusiasm that inspired the team 
on the field, they yelled: 

“Mulvy, Mulvy! Rah, Rah, Mul . . . 
vy!” 

“Another,” shouted Gaffney. 

“Mulvy, Mulvy ! Rah, Rah, Mul . . . vy!” 

“Now one for Regal, whoop it up, boys.” 

“Regal, Regal, Rah, Rah, Regal!” 

The ball was snapped back to Bob, who 
gave it a kick that sent it right over the goal 
for three points. Again pandemonium. Again 
cheers. Stanley followers were beginning to 
get nervous. 8 to 3 was not dangerous, but 
it was the way Regal was going at it. “What 

[267] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


a difference one man makes/’ was heard on 
all sides. 

The teams lined up again. Both were 
playing at top speed. They swayed to and 
fro. There were no slips, no mistakes. It was 
give and take, with the results about even. 
It kept on that way until the whistle blew and 
the third quarter was over. 

The Regal crowd occupied the short interval 
cheering its team uninterruptedly. Stanley 
did the same. 

The whistle blew again, and the battle 
was renewed. If Stanley could hold the score 
as it was, the victory was hers. Out from her 
side of the stands came the concerted yell, 

“Stanley, hold! Stanley, hold! Stanley, 
hold!” 

And that was their game. They held well. 
Eight minutes of the quarter had passed, 
and it began to look as if nothing could get 
through Stanley. It looked like her game. 
Then something happened. 

The ball was passed to Mulvy. With the 
grace and speed of a hound, he made for the 
enemy line. Hardly had he started when a 
big Stanley player got right in front of him. 
By clever dodging Frank got by him. He had 
[268] 


KNIGHTED 


just struck his stride when another opponent 
dashed across his path ready to spring at 
him. Frank came on full tilt, and just as a 
plunge was made for him, he stopped short, 
turned aside and the tackier went digging 
into the ground. 

The crowd was wild now. Only one man 
stood between Mulvy and a touchdown, and 
victory. The coach was pulling his hat to 
pieces. The Regal followers were frantic with 
anticipation. 

But Stanley’s best tackle was waiting for 
Mulvy. He had seen how the other two were 
fooled, and was ready for every emergency. 
He was a cool, active big chap with lots of 
football instinct. Frank knew him. He had 
seen him play often. But on he ran like a 
deer, his hair blown back by the wind, his 
nostrils distended and his eyes aglow and 
determined. As he got near the barrier, he 
made as if he were going to keep right on. 
He came at top speed to within a foot of the 
tackle; then just as the tackle crouched low 
and sprang at him, Frank fell sidewise to the 
ground, rolled over, and before the tackle 
could rise, jumped to his feet, ran at full speed 
and crossed the line ! 

[269] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


Lunacy was the word to describe what fol- 
lowed. Madness seized the crowd. Hats in the 
air, good hats. Fellows thumped one another, 
jumped up and down, yelled and bawled and 
screamed and cried. Hysteria was let loose. 
Regal knew that the game was won. The 
score now stood 9 to 8. As the teams were 
playing, Stanley could not score again. Regal 
took the ball and brought it down the field 
to try for a goal. Bob kicked it, and it went 
sailing just outside the mark. But no one 
minded. The fellows rushed to position for 
the continuation of the game. All the way 
down to their formation, it was nothing but 
“ Bully Boy, Mulvy.” “You saved the day, 
Mulvy.” “You’re a brick, Mulvy.” 

And from the crowd it was, “Mulvy, Mul- 
vy! Rah, Rah, Mul....vy!” now from one 
section of the Regal stand, now from another. 

The whistle blew, the fight was on again. 
Stanley made desperate efforts to regain the 
lead. Once or twice they almost succeeded 
in breaking through. The yell from their 
followers now took another form. “Stanley, 
gain! Stanley, gain! Stanley, gain!” They 
tried hard. They kept on trying to the very 
[270] 


KNIGHTED 


end. The whistle blew, the game was over, 
Regal was Interscholastic Champion! 

The noise that now broke out made all the 
previous demonstration seem mild in com- 
parison. The Regal section of the stands was 
one mass of frenzied humanity. Men, women 
and boys yelled and slapped and thumped. 
Anything that could make a noise was com- 
mandeered and set in operation. It was 
temporary lunacy. The tense strain of nearly 
two hours let itself off in hysterically jubilant 
celebration. 

But the real frenzy was on the field. The 
coach was fit to be caged. He yelled and 
bawled and danced. He pummelled everybody 
and everything within reach. All the reserve 
players were cheering and howling, boy fash- 
ion. The team itself was just one big satisfied 
smile. Their joy was too great for expression. 
They hugged one another. All of them tried 
to hug Frank at once. 

“O let up,” he yelled. “This is worse than 
the game.” He tore himself loose. But not 
for long. He was blocked everywhere. The 
team surrounded him again, pitched him on 
the shoulders of the stoutest two, spite of his 
[271 ] 


A BOY KNIGHT 


opposition, and marched off to the dressing 
room. 

“ What’s the matter with Mulvy? He’s all 
right! Who’s all right? Mul....vy!” They 
repeated that over and over again. As they 
got near the stand, the crowd took it up, Gaff- 
ney leading. “ What’s the matter with Mulvy ? 
He’s all right ! Who’s all right ? Mulvy!” 

About a hundred Regal boys with Gaffney 
at their head marched to Frank’s home yell- 
ing, “ What’s the matter with Mulvy? He’s 
all right! Who’s all right? Mul....vy! Regal! 
Rah, Rah, Regal! — Mul. . . .vy!” 

They passed the rectory on their way to 
Frank’s house. Gaffney yelled out, “Here, 
fellows, let’s give a good one for Regal and 
Mulvy.” The cheer rang out, 

“Regal! Regal! Rah, Rah, Regal. What’s 
the matter with Mulvy? He’s all right ! Who’s 
all right? Mul. . . .vy! Regal! Regal! Rah, 
Rah, Regal! Mulvy!” 

Father Boone heard the yell and went to 
his window. It was the first news he had of 
the game. That yelling told him of victory, 
even before he heard what they were shouting. 
A defeated team goes home quietly. Not so 
the victors. He was glad beyond expression. 

[272] 




T HE team pitched him on the shoulders of 
the stoutest two and marched off. 





















' 
























KNIGHTED 


Four of the boys on the team were graduates 
of the Club. It was a great victory. But 
what touched him particularly was that other 
yell he heard. Regal was music to his ears, 
but Regal and Mulvy! That meant that 
Frank had done his share — more than his 
share. As he got to the window, the crowd 
was moving on. Every now and then he 
caught the refrain, “What’s the matter with 
Mulvy? He’s all right.” 

“Yes, he is all right, thank God,” he said 
to himself. 

All through Parkville the crowd marched. 
They were killing time until Frank should 
show up. Then they had their plans. After 
going to the High School, and giving the 
Regal Rah, and the Mulvy Rah, they paraded 
up and down the Avenue and over the cross 
streets until everyone knew that Mulvy was 
“all right.” They waited and waited for 
Frank. But no Frank showed up. 

Finally Gaffney said, “I know that kid. He 
has given us the slip. It’s getting dark, fel- 
lows, let’s go up to his house and give him 
a good yell and then scatter.” So on they 
marched to Frank’s home. It was bedlam as 

[273] 


A BOY KNIGHT 

soon as they got there. They yelled and yelled 
until the whole neighborhood was out. That 
was what they wanted. 

Mr. Mulvy had just got home from his 
office. Mr. and Mrs. Mulvy and Frank’s 
two elder brothers and his sisters came to the 
windows to see what was up. They had not 
heard of the result of the game. Mrs. Mulvy 
had just finished telling how they sent for 
Frank. What was their astonishment then 
to hear the yell, 

“Regal! Regal! Rah, Rah, Regal! Mul. . . . 
vy! What’s the matter with Mulvy? He’s 
all right! Who’s all right? Mul....vy!” 

Mr. Mulvy looked suddenly at Mrs. Mulvy. 
The big tears were rolling down her cheeks. 

“Why, what’s the matter, dear, you should 
be proud and happy?” 

“I am. But you don’t understand.” 

(VI) 

About ten minutes later, when the crowd 
had dispersed, Frank came quietly along the 
Avenue and over the street to his home. 
To his surprise the rooms were all lighted. 
He opened the door and received such a warm 
welcome that it took his breath away. All 

[274] 


KNIGHTED 


rushed at him to shake him by the hand and 
pat him on the back and kiss him. All but his 
mother. His eyes ran over the room in search 
of her. He saw her in the big arm chair, her 
apron to her eyes, wiping away tears which 
only he understood. He ran into her arms. 
Neither said a word. They just embraced. 
Then she kissed him on the forehead. “You 
are all right, Frank/’ was all she said. 

Of course, he told them all about the game. 
But it was not until Dick and Ned and Tom- 
mie came in to congratulate him that they 
heard his part in it. Dick was a word painter, 
and he drew such a picture of the game and 
of a “certain player” in it that a certain 
player blushed. But the father and mother 
and the sisters and brothers of a “certain 
player” started in all over again to maul 
him, and tell that player what they thought 
of him. 

After dinner, with Tommy and Dick and 
Ned all present, Frank had to go down to the 
Club. He didn’t want to — he knew how the 
fellows would maul him. But he did feel that 
Father Boone would expect him to be there. 

The assembled fellows were hoping he would 
drop in. The boys who had resigned were 

[27?] 


A B OY KNIGHT 

there, too. Frank’s noble conduct had refuted 
all charges against himself and the Club. 
The crowd, knowing his quiet ways, feared 
that he would not come. But when he ar- 
rived, it was the same old thing over again. 
Cheers, hand-shakes, howling, thumping, the 
way that boys have of saying what they most 
want to say. 

After a while, he went upstairs. Father 
Boone was expecting him. He entered smiling. 
Father Boone was smiling too. But as they 
looked at each other in silence, the strong man 
and the brave boy saw tears in each other’s 
eyes. They grasped hands. And they looked, 
as it^were, each into the other’s soul. For they 
understood. 

For a long time they sat in silence, pensive, 
peaceful. At length Father Boone broke the 
silence. It was no word of congratulation, no 
reference to the game. 

“Well, Frank, God’s way is the best way.” 

Another spell of silence. This was broken by 
Frank. 

“I remember, Father, that you said life 
was a mirage. I’ve been thinking of poor 
Bill, and how he misunderstood us, and of 
how you were mistaken in me, and how I 
[276] 


KNIGHTED 


misjudged you. We saw so much that really 
was not there at all.” 

"It’s good to realize that so early in life, 
Frank. I’ve found from experience that most 
trouble comes from misunderstanding. Why 
God permits it, we do not know. I suppose it 
is to try us.” 

“ You know so much about life, Father, why 
don’t you write a book on it?” 

“I may some day, Frank, and if I do I shall 
put you in it and call it ‘Mirage.’ ” 


The End 

























































































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